


A New Way Dawning

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Series: Light and Shadows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his divorce, Jim meets someone and begins to explore a different side of himself. (prequel to "When Daylight Comes")</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Way Dawning

**Author's Note:**

> This is set before "When Daylight Comes" and tells the story of Jim's sexual awakening after meeting Griffin Paris. To see a nice pic of Griff, check out my site.

## A New Way Dawning

by JC

Author's webpage: <http://www.skeeter63.org/jayci>

Author's disclaimer: The characters from the TV series "The Sentinel" are not my property, and I am not making money off of them. Griffin Paris is mine, and I'm not making money off of him, either. 

* * *

A New Way Dawning by J.C. 

Jim Ellison gasped, his breathing choked and ragged as his body jerked in the clenches of orgasm. Pleasure rolled through him in urgent waves, crashing through a small knot of shame deep in his gut. Despite the cool tile wall that was suddenly holding him up and the shower splashing him with its rapidly chilling spray, his skin felt flushed and hot. When his heart had slowed to its normal rhythm, he let go of his spent cock and quickly soaped up, washing away the slick remains of come and sweat and guilt with icy water. He dried off with rough strokes of one of the large, fluffy towels provided by the hotel and left the bathroom on stiff and unsteady legs to dress in clean underwear and comfortable sweats. 

It had been the same every single night that he had spent in the unfamiliar bed in the Cascade Waterfront Plaza Hotel, next door to a man who was becoming increasingly familiar...though only in fantasies. Those vaguely disturbing dreams that were laced with the sort of desire that he had long refused to acknowledge. It was only in the recent frantic flurries of jerking off in the shower that he had let it flow unrestrained. The distant memories of that sexually hazy summer before he went into the military merging desperately with fresh images of the man in the adjoining hotel room, Griffin Paris. 

There was only a single connecting door between them, and Jim had to work hard to swallow down the urge to open it on any of a number of faintly legitimate pretexts to see what would happen. But, the truth of the matter was that they were separated by far more than a few feet of deeply piled carpeting and a door that could lock on both sides, but at the moment was merely closed. 

First and foremost, Jim reasoned, were the obligations and responsibilities concerning his job as a police detective. His current assignment was Griffin Paris, an openly bisexual African-American author of two bestsellers, who had been targeted by a disturbed individual with a hatred of 'black perverts', Paris in particular, and whose interest had increased in intensity and malice over the course of Paris' recent book tour. In Dallas and Vegas, death threats had escalated to attempts, but the perpetrator continued to escape apprehension. By the time he had gotten to Cascade, Paris was noticeably shaken, but refused to cut the tour short. Jim's captain, Simon Banks, had convinced Paris to accept extra security and prolong his stay in Cascade in hopes of forcing the stalker's hand, appointing Jim to the security detail. 

From the moment that he and Paris had met, Jim had felt definite stirrings of arousal. Dull aches and sharp pangs that had been unexpected and unwelcome, causing visions that were so easy to imagine and so hard to ignore. Griffin Paris was good-looking, comfortable with his sexuality and vocal about it in his writing and his interviews. He was relaxed in his manner, making Jim all the more physically aware of him. His solid body was almost as filled-out and almost as tall as Jim's own, but with coppery-brown skin. Not to mention the strong, handsome face, striking, light brown eyes, neatly trimmed mustache, short, but wavy hair. And that smile. 

During the day, Jim kept his lusting under strict control, concentrating doggedly on doing his duty. At night, he gave his fevered imagination free reign in the shower where he could justify his nakedness, muffle the sounds of his desperate passion with running water, and feel safer knowing that there was a whole room between him and that connecting door and the object of his seemingly obsessive desire. Where he could leave behind the sick feeling that he was a stalker in his own right, taking advantage of a man in need, and rinse the residue of it down the drain. 

Officially, he wasn't actually on duty at night. Two other detectives took over when his shift ended, but after his first day on guard, Paris had requested his continued presence, providing the adjoining room, and Jim had agreed when Simon had put the proposal to him. He knew that he was considered one of the best, and he felt he deserved that distinction; trusting his own abilities as a cop more than he did that of the others, no matter how good they might be. And, he felt better by being there, refusing to believe that maybe it wasn't at all a good idea, despite the underlying threads of fear and tension that he knew had nothing to do with the job. 

His time after showering was spent poring over the files, trying to gain inroads to the source of the threat, absently listening to the sounds next door: a television, a voice talking on the phone, clicks from a computer keyboard, much later, snoring. Not that he thought he could actually hear all of that, it was just his mind filling in the blanks, he was sure, but it was like background music for him while he worked. Worked diligently, because with Paris out of danger, Jim could move on, push those errant feelings back to where they belonged. And, he admitted to himself, he wanted to be the one to put an end to Paris' ordeal. 

Night after night after night, doing the same thing...sitting at the desk with his hair still damp, sifting through the detritus from the case until his eyes blurred, getting no real clues to the stalker's identity, getting no real relief for his issues with his own shaky identity. And every night, his dreams were filled with pleasantly erotic episodes that would leave him feeling haunted the next day. 

* * *

In the end, the case was broken in the manner of a lot of hard-to-solve cases--a bit of luck and some carelessness on the part of the suspect. 

On the day before Griffin Paris had decided to leave Cascade and continue down the coast on his tour, he gave a local magazine interview, meeting in the bookstore where he had scheduled one last appearance. He showed no signs of his stressful situation, and as he talked animatedly about his writing and his success and his life, Jim watched him and the people lingering in the vicinity, noticing nothing out of the ordinary. Kept close and kept watch as they walked a few blocks through bustling after-work crowds to an upscale caf for dinner. It was riskier than room service at the hotel, but Jim was on duty, at Paris' side and totally confident. 

Inside, Paris went to make a phone call to check in with his service, walking to the two phones in the back hallway where the restrooms were situated. One call to get messages, and then, another call, speaking in a low, intimately husky voice. Paris had kept in touch with his family--parents and a sister, Jim had learned--as well as his editor and agent. And then, there had been the few other calls, where Paris had used that warm, sexy tone. Man or woman, Jim wasn't sure, but the resonance of Paris' voice distracted him, as did the eyes, flickering as the other man turned away for a bit more privacy, causing Jim to take a few steps back to grant the same, though he stared, when he should have looked away or looked around. 

Still, he caught the movement as two men, one blond, one with his head shaved, returned from the direction of the men's room, filling up the narrow passageway, slowing as they came to the phones, falling in single file to get past where Paris was standing. Something furtive about the man that was in the rear...hands moving, eyes darting, and Jim's cop instincts kicked in with quick efficiency. His gun drawn, body rushing forward, shouting words of warning, pushing Paris aside, aiming his weapon at the man who froze holding up a knife with a bloody blade. In the ensuing frenzy of cuffing the suspect, and calling for backup and medical assistance for the blond, who turned out to be an innocent bystander, stabbed in the arm as the suspect had turned to run. 

Hours later, after asking questions, taking statements, recording a confession, handling the booking and the inevitable stack of paperwork, Jim escorted Paris back to the hotel for the final time, seeing him inside, more out of habit than necessity, then went next door to collect his things. He started to knock on the connecting door, stick his head in just to say goodbye, but he flushed at the implications of such an act, how it seemed like crossing a line. So, he took the safer route, stepping into the hall, where he knocked on the door to the room next to his, and took his leave after a few final words. 

That night, at home in his loft apartment, he made a point of not retreating to the shower for his usual release. He watched television, read the paper, all the while pretending that his thoughts weren't wandering. Until he ended up sprawling back on the couch, jerking off with his left hand, trying to vary his technique and imagine that it was Paris gripping him tightly, squeezing and pulling. Paris, naked on the floor between his legs making him come. His strangled cry filled the loft and with tremors shaking his body, he tried to catch the flow of semen carefully in his cupped palm. 

Once clean and settled in his bed, he fell quickly into a deep and dreamless sleep. 

* * *

As he walked by Simon's office the next morning, the muted sound of a familiar voice made Jim stop, his hand frozen in midair with a cup of coffee almost to his lips. He glanced through the slats of the blinds, seeing the profile of Griffin Paris, and stood staring until Simon looked up suddenly, noticing him, beckoning him in with a wave. Caught in the act, Jim jerked away, mumbling a curse as some hot liquid spilled onto his hand, a few drops burning his chest as they soaked a stain in his shirt, and he pretended that he hadn't seen Simon, that he hadn't been standing there at all. 

"Jim." 

He had made it to his desk, had his jacket off, and was dabbing at his shirt with the doughnut wrapper that he had unknowingly crushed in his fist. Turning slowly, he met Simon's gaze, his eyes involuntarily moving to the other man standing there. 

"Yes, sir?" Addressing Simon, but unable to look away from Griffin Paris' face. 

"Mr. Paris has something that he'd like to say to you." 

Light-brown eyes and a bright smile reflected something warm and open as Paris stepped forward. For a panicked moment, Jim imagined that Paris was going to ask him out, express some other-than-friendly interest, or acknowledge some perceived mutual physical attraction, right there in the Major Crimes bullpen. 

"I'd just like to thank you again for saving my life...for being there." Paris' hand was extended. 

Jim shook it automatically, ignoring the way it felt in his own: the physical heat and strength of it. "I was just doing my job, Mr. Paris. No thanks necessary," he answered, hoping that he was holding on no longer than was appropriate, but not wanting to pull away too soon. 

"I'm no stranger to threats, but I'll admit that this whole thing was... well, I'm glad it's over," Paris said, releasing the handshake. 

Jim nodded, saying nothing more. 

"Well, I have a plane to catch, so I'll let you get back to work." Shaking Simon's hand briefly and then walking away. 

With effort, Jim sat, deliberately not watching Paris waiting for the elevator. He felt foolish that he had anticipated something more, relieved that it had been nothing. When a hand clamped down on his shoulder, he almost jumped. 

"Good work, Detective. I expect the completed file on my desk by the end of the day." 

Grunting in acknowledgment, Jim tried to look busy, shuffling papers with purpose. 'It's over,' he told himself. That reckless awakening of hunger would eventually subside, now that Griffin Paris was gone. That raw and vulnerable sensation, leftover from the divorce, hopefully, that too would finally fade. 'It's over,' he repeated, pulling out the case file so that he could mark it 'closed'. 

* * *

Over the course of the next four weeks, Jim was curiously shocked to find that he was more conscious than he wanted to be of men around him. Inappropriately so, enticingly so... not overwhelmingly so, but, still, there was a subtle underlying awareness of eyes or hair, smiles or bodies. The same way that he had unconsciously noticed women over the years--like the sparkling glow in Carolyn's eyes despite her professional manner, or the rich color of her hair as it brushed her shoulders when she moved. But, that had been in the days before their failed marriage had lent a certain distance to her gaze as she watched him with her new short, post-divorce haircut. Way before Jim had begun to be caught off guard by such things as the boyish charm of the rookie detective's smile or the way Simon Banks filled out his suits. 

Those sudden responses were disturbing, but oddly didn't worry him. Though, one morning, he did come close to panic when he woke and realized that none of it was really new. That, over the years, he had noticed plenty of men, stolen countless glances, catalogued the male body in uniforms from high school football, through the military, to the police. That he had stored a veritable montage of memory flashes of big men in tight tees and pretty boys in tight jeans. Evidently, he hadn't ever really left behind those insistent urges that had broken free during a summer of fumbling handjobs and clumsy climaxes with Tad Washburn when they were eighteen. Instead, he had been practicing his own personal version of 'don't ask, don't tell'--suppressing his attractions, all the while ensconcing himself in predominately male arenas. 

No wonder his marriage hadn't lasted, Jim thought. Carolyn hadn't known the man to whom she had been married, or maybe she had...maybe he was just fooling himself, waiting blindly to be ambushed by unexpected erotic revelations. But despite being somewhat thrown by them, he also felt a certain sense of freedom. Enough to get him to drive an hour or so out of Cascade to a place that he knew about, but had never visited. By the time he arrived, he was tense, both wanting and fearing what lay ahead. Ultimately, he hadn't stopped, just slowed down a little, eyeing the men standing around out front, imagining that he could hear the pounding rhythm of hearts thumping and dicks throbbing underneath the faint sound of the club's musical beat as he drove away. 

It was too much, too soon, but it was _there_ , and part of him was glad for it, and grateful that at least he seemed to be over the habit of personalizing his urges with Griffin Paris' name. And though, sometimes, the nameless, faceless bodies in his dreams sharpened into focus as solid and brown, with bright smiles or clear, light-brown eyes... they remained buried in his dreams. 

But, the phone call he received one Friday afternoon was real enough. He had just gotten to his feet, slipping an arm into the sleeve of his jacket, letting it hang off of one shoulder while he reached for the phone with his other hand, absently thinking about what he wanted to eat for lunch. 

"Ellison." 

"Detective Ellison...this is Griff...uh, Griffin Paris. I'm sorry to call you at work..." 

"No problem, Mr. Paris. What can I do for you?" 

"Please, call me Griff." 

"Okay," Jim said before roughly clearing his throat, "Griff. Is everything all right? Do you have some question about the sentencing of the case?" 

"No, nothing like that. I'm in town for the night, and I'd like to treat you to dinner...as a thank-you." 

"There's no need for you to do that." 

"I know, but you have to eat, right? And I have 8:00 reservations at La Buona Vita. It would mean a lot if you'd join me. I can pick you up from the station or your place..." 

"I'll meet you there." 

"Okay, fine. Then, I'll see you later." 

One night, one dinner, one chance to indulge himself in a situation with Griffin Paris that was more up-close-and-personal than before, even though Jim knew that he would still maintain the appropriate distance. His stomach rumbled, no longer from hunger for food, but a different craving and maybe a little fear, making the idea of Wonderburger less than appetizing. He went to the nearest vending machine and bought a soda, settling back at his desk to work, hoping that nothing more strenuous than updating reports would come his way for the rest of the day. 

* * *

The dinner was delicious, the wine excellent, and the company...well, the way Griffin Paris looked made Jim sweat. He was dressed less casually than the other times that Jim had seen him, and all the more attractive. The smile was still the same and the intensity in the eyes, but there seemed to be a different scent about him, and throughout the evening, Jim constantly found his gaze drawn to Griff's long-fingered hands. 

'This is not a date,' he had to keep repeating to himself. His own wayward lust had no basis in the other man's feelings. Griff was just comfortable with himself in a way that kept slipping through Jim's defenses. 'It's not a date.' Repeated for the hundredth time. Just an innocent dinner with pleasant conversation, mostly from Griff about his family, his work, his way of life. And, too soon, it was over, both men declining dessert and Griff was signing for the check. 

"So, you're headed back to Atlanta tomorrow?" Jim asked as they were walking out. 

Griff stared at him, not speaking for a moment. "Well, actually, that depends on you." 

Jim froze, unable to look away, though already a part of him was running scared. 

"Truthfully, I only came here to see you, and I apologize in advance if I'm way out of line, but I'd like to see you again." 

Unable to move, unable to speak, Jim could only listen. 

"Under the circumstances, I'd welcome just your friendship, but I thought that you should at least know that I'm also very attracted to you. Not that I come on to every guy that I find attractive, but you...I mean... Shit. I'm making a mess of this, right? Look, I'm sorry, Jim. Thanks for dinner." 

A quick turn and Griff walked away with a haste that Jim was sure came from embarrassment. He considered going after him, but wasn't sure what he would say...what he _should_ say. Whether he could handle them being friends, much less anything more, or if it was easier for them to be nothing at all. With his own sense of embarrassment, he realized that he was still standing rooted in the same spot in front of the restaurant, a conspicuous living statue, and he forced himself to turn and head for his truck, ignoring the sideways glances from a couple passing by. When he was finally on his way home, his thoughts ricocheting inside his head as he replayed the evening's events, it occurred to him that it had indeed been a date, after all. And, despite everything, he couldn't fight a little smile. 

* * *

There was a fumbling sound, followed by a low groan, and then a voice roughened with sleep. "H'lo." 

"Uh...um, sorry, didn't mean to wake you. I guess I wasn't paying attention to the time. It's me...uh...Jim, Jim Ellison." 

"Yeah, hey, what's up?" 

"Do you like to fish?" 

"Do I like fish?" 

"No, _fishing_. I'm going up in the mountains to do some fishing on the lake tomorrow. You could...I could pick you up if you wanted to go." 

"Fishing." 

"I really did wake you up, didn't I? Look, I'll, um... I'll call you later." 

"I have an early flight out tomorrow." 

"Oh." 

"I could cancel...if you're sure." 

"I'll pick you up at seven, if that's not too early. It'll take us a while to get there." 

"That's fine. Just one thing." 

"Yeah?" 

"Bring coffee... _lots_ of coffee." 

"No problem," Jim said, feeling unreasonably excited, "see you then." 

"Goodnight...Jim." 

"Goodnight." 

Jim didn't think he'd sleep at all that night, but he fell off instantly, dreaming of sun and water and mountaintops. 

* * *

Jim hadn't considered the long ride up to the lake, the closed cab, the close confines, and after the issue with coffee was dealt with, he wondered what they would say. But, thirty minutes later, Griff drifted off, his head sagging against the passenger window, snoring gently every so often, relieving Jim of the burdens of conversation. Instead, Jim watched, not overtly, not constantly, but secret glances that satisfied something in him, no matter how unsure he felt about the situation as a whole. 

When he arrived at their destination, he parked the truck in a suitable spot. Griff didn't wake up, so he called his name, then shook him a little by the shoulder, suddenly nervous fingers involuntarily squeezing a bit. 

Griff's eyes blinked open, and he looked around in drowsy confusion. "Oh, man, I'm sorry. After a tour, I usually sleep in for about a week straight just to re-orient myself. And, I guess, this tour was a little more hectic than most, well, as you know." 

Feeling uncomfortable, Jim said, "This was a bad idea..." 

"No, it's fine. Fresh air, some more coffee...I'll be good as new. But, I think you should know, I've never been fishing before." 

"There's nothing to it." 

"Just throw out your line and see what bites, right?" Griff asked, with a small, sexy grin. 

Jim actually blushed, having no ready response to that, and busied himself with two thermoses and a cooler. "Here, you take these, I'll get the gear." 

The weather was nice, a pleasant heat with cooling breezes. They weren't alone, they could see others out on the lake enjoying the mountain air, but they had their particular spot to themselves. They made idle conversation, lazy, easy talk, finally able to set aside the roles of 'cop' and 'victim', and try out being 'friends', though a sexual tension hovered uncertainly in the air. Jim forced himself to relax, concentrating on the simple ins and outs of fishing from the shore. They caught a few before lunch, a few more after, and time slid away so smoothly that they didn't start packing up until it was getting dark. 

By the time they were back in the truck, the sun was setting below the lake, and they watched it silently, contentedly, for a few moments. Jim didn't remember reaching out, but he must have because he had Griff's arm in a light grasp, and then they were kissing. Kissing in a way that had him hard and pressing forward, seeking contact with the solid body next to him. So different from those times when he was young, nothing fumbling or hurried, just slow and rough. So different, too, from any of the women that he had ever kissed in his life, touching some hidden place inside of him. He was almost shaking with the excitement of it, and though he was sure he had never come from just a kiss, without his dick even being touched, he suddenly exploded, trapped inside jeans that had become too tight, biting Griff's tongue in the process. 

"I think it's the fish that are supposed to bite," Griff said huskily, as they broke the kiss. 

Jim bit Griff on the neck, trying not to feel embarrassed, reaching for Griff's crotch to even the score. 

"Later," Griff whispered, pushing Jim back. 

Moonlight shone brightly enough to see clearly inside the truck, but Jim didn't look at Griff, didn't look down at himself. He grimaced as he shifted back into position behind the wheel, and started the engine, feeling sticky and satisfied, yet hungry for more. It was another quiet trip on the road, but this time Griff wasn't sleeping. Jim could sense the heat from his gaze and any words of small talk he would have made dried up in his throat. 

At Griff's hotel, Jim stopped out front, battling an apprehension that had seemed to increase the closer they had gotten to Cascade. 

"Gonna park and come up?" Griff finally asked after a few moments of charged silence. "You know the room." 

Jim looked at him, looked at the hotel with its brightly-lit lobby still somewhat alive with Saturday night activity. "I don't think...I..." 

"Jim..." Griff trailed off, sighing heavily. "Fine." 

The door closed with a 'thunk' and Jim drove off without watching Griff go inside. Traveling through the familiar streets, he felt exposed, as if the city's eyes were on him all the way home. Back in the loft, alone in his own private territory, he washed up, and fell asleep on the couch, dreaming of himself trapped in a room with everything he wanted behind a door that he was afraid to open. 

* * *

Jim hung up the phone on the recording, not bothering to leave a message with the hotel voicemail. What would he say, anyway? Better to let it go, let Griff go, instead of inviting trouble. He looked at the clock, glad to see that it was almost the end of his shift, then turned his attention back to his computer screen, running a few more names through the police database, hoping to get a break in his latest case before he left for the day. A few minutes later, his phone rang, interrupting the train of thought that had him focusing on Marty Pender, a small-time thief, as a possible lead. 

"Ellison." 

"Um, yeah...Jim, it's me. Uh, Griff. I just wanted to thank you for the fishing trip and to apologize for...well..." 

"No, I should be the one. I...I tried calling you at the hotel earlier.... You probably think I'm some sort of jackass, but...it's just..." Jim broke off at the sound of Simon barking his name. "Shit. Hold on," he said into the phone, as he turned to face his captain. 

"Axelson and Thatcher have been spotted over on Eastport Avenue," Simon was saying. "I think you want to get on this." 

"Yes, sir. On my way," Jim said, standing up from his desk, only then realizing that he still had the phone receiver in his hand. "Um, look," he said to Griff, "I've got to go. A break in a case. But I'll call you later." 

"Sure, no problem." 

"It might be late, but I'll call." Jim hung up, grabbed his jacket, telling himself that the rush he felt was only due to the prospect of finally bringing down a certain pair of elusive crooks. 

* * *

It was almost two in the morning when Jim dragged himself up the stairs to his apartment. The car chase hadn't been so bad, but having to subsequently run after JoJo Axelson on foot had been more of an ordeal, especially when, at one point, it had involved a collision with a brick wall and making a flying tackle onto a concrete alley, landing in a pile of soggy garbage. He was used to the physical aspect of his job, but military life had been strenuous enough, and sometimes he wondered how much longer he'd feel like taking it. The interrogation of the suspects that had followed hadn't been the smoothest he'd ever conducted, but he counted it a success that he hadn't literally kicked Axelson's ass around the room. Simon had met him back at the station, and requested a written preliminary report for first thing in the morning, which meant taking care of paperwork that he had hoped to put off until much later the next day. 

A shower, long and hot, was his first order of business, he thought as he let himself into his place. Afterwards, he didn't feel like eating, and his bed was calling him louder than the two beers that he knew were still left in the fridge. He was almost asleep when he remembered Griff and the phone call he was supposed to make, but his tired brain figured it was way too late to call, anyway. Not to mention that he felt too drained to even conduct a coherent conversation. But, even so, his body had already started responding to the thought of Griff... strong hands, deep voice, that incredible kiss in the truck...and, before he knew it, he had reached for the phone. 

"Hello?" 

"Hi. I know it's late, but I said I'd call..." 

"Oh, hey. Don't worry about it, I was up doing some writing." 

"Well, I don't want to keep you..." 

"No, Jim, please...talk to me. Tell me what's going on. I'm not trying to pressure you, but you're giving me some seriously mixed signals." 

"I just...it's just that this is all...new to me, and...I'm a cop, I need to be...careful." 

"Right. You're right, I'm sorry. You know, I forget sometimes that not everyone feels that they can be out in the open. I apologize if I put you on the spot." 

"It's not that I didn't want to, um, see you or anything, but when we got back to the hotel... Well, last time, I was there on the job, not...you know... maybe no one would have paid attention, but I guess I feel like I'm in a little over my head here...." 

"Jim, no problem, man, really. Look, I probably should let you get some rest, and I'm going to get back to this, do a bit more before I crash." 

"Okay...um..." 

"Goodnight, Jim." 

"Yeah, goodnight." Hanging up the phone, Jim thought he should feel relieved that it was finally over, but, instead, he only felt more confused. His dreams that night were a bizarre mix of him wrestling around on the ground with a suspect, and wrestling around on a bed with first Carolyn, and then Griff. The next morning he woke up with damp boxers, his mind hazy with a lingering sexual fog, and he had no idea what part of his dreams had been the cause. 

* * *

Jim parked his truck in the darkened parking lot on the side of the motel. It had been another long day on the job, made even longer because of the sizzling thread of anticipation that had been running through him for hours. That morning, a messenger had delivered an envelope to him, and inside had been a note: 

"Blue Moon Motel, room 213. Bring dinner. G." 

He hadn't even entertained the idea of not going, and didn't examine how pleased he was that, obviously, it _wasn't_ over. So, at a little after nine, he had two bags of Chinese takeout on the seat next to him and was going up the highway to the place where Griff was waiting for him. It looked like a typical roadside motel from the outside and Jim couldn't help but be glad about its out-of-the-way location. He took deep breaths as he walked to the door, but by the time he knocked, he was already starting to get hard inside his pants. 

After saying their hellos, Griff took the bags of food over to a small desk, and Jim followed close behind admiring the way Griff looked walking across the room. The masculine grace of muscles moving, the seductive tease of nipples poking through the thin cotton shirt, the distinct bulge in the crotch of gray sweatpants when he turned... Jim was unable to resist a touch, cupping his hand over Griff's groin, and Griff did the same to him for a too-short moment. One second they were standing there, smiling at one another, and the next, they were kissing, tasting, biting gently, tongues exploring inside and out. 

Griff grew bolder, removing Jim's shirt. He nibbled at Jim's chest, before his tongue trailed over Jim's body, traveling lower, taking his time as he licked his way towards Jim's belly button, making Jim want to return the favor. It was his first time kissing another man's body, and he followed Griff's lead, biting Griff's nipples through the t-shirt first, then taking it off so that he could taste the bare skin beneath, leaving a slick trail as he mapped Griff's abs with his tongue. Before long, Griff was tugging on Jim, stripping him of his pants, exposing Jim's raging hard-on and tightening balls, and the oral assault started anew. 

Jim's knees shook as Griff took him in, swallowing him to the root, groaning low in his throat over and over so that the sound sent pleasant shocks up Jim's shaft. When Griff turned him so that he was bracing himself on the back of a chair, Jim was taken by surprise by the erotically charged sensation of a tongue slipping between the cheeks of his ass. Teeth bit at his flesh, and then, that tongue probed deeper. Helplessly, he pushed back for more, spreading himself wider. It was so good, so fucking good that he was sure that any second he was going to come, spraying hard all over the worn motel carpeting. 

But, Jim wanted to try a few things himself, so he pulled away, going to his knees, pulling Griff's pants down as he went until he was facing a rock-hard erection. He sucked it in slowly, getting used to the feeling of fullness in his mouth, doing what he liked done to him in hopes that Griff would like the same. From the sound of moaning above him, he guessed he was getting the hang of it, and he gripped the cheeks of Griff's ass trying to take him in deeper. He was only slightly successful at that, but he got some satisfaction out of having tried, especially when he could feel Griff's body trembling in his hands. Pulling back, he took a good look at the spit-slick cock bobbing urgently in his face. It was thick and long with tight, curly hair at its base and it made Jim's own cock jerk in response. 

The food was all but forgotten as Griff helped Jim to his feet and led him to the bed, whispering words that were both sweet and dirty, the effects of which Jim felt all the way down to his toes. When he had Jim on his back, knees raised in the air, Griff fumbled for the condoms and lube that he had stashed away earlier in the evening. Jim gasped as cool wetness dripped onto his asshole, and again as the blunt tip of one of Griff's fingers circled him lightly. 

"Are you okay?" Griff asked, speaking softly in Jim's ear. 

When it seemed the only sound he could make was a low whimper, Jim gave a nod. Pleasure spiraled through him, inexorably intertwined with a little pain as Griff fingered him some more, pressing inside, opening him and stretching him. 

"Are you ready?" 

It wasn't an easy question to answer. Things had gone far beyond what Jim had envisioned for the night, and it occurred to him that they probably should have talked more first, but he wasn't ready to stop, afraid of somehow missing a chance, so he nodded again. Griff turned him over, positioning him, and Jim thought his heart had stopped when the head of Griff's dick pushed into him. He froze, his cock wilting at the shock of pain, and Griff stopped as well, as if waiting for Jim to start breathing again. As pain receded, arousal took over, and he felt Griff pushing further into him, reawakening his desire, his dick getting harder with each of Griff's long, deep strokes. They moved in a sweet, hot rhythm, broken every so often by a certain twist of Griff's hips that made Jim want to scream from the thrill of it. 

It was nothing like what he had imagined. In fact, none of his dreams had been at all about him getting fucked, but with Griff's dick in his ass, and Griff's fist around his cock, it was better than any dream. It was an electric reality that had him on edge, virtually begging for release, but it was Griff who came first, and Jim could swear that he could feel the increase in heat and each throbbing pulse as Griff emptied into him. With one or two more rough pumps from Griff's hand, Jim came, as well, shooting wetness onto the bed, and they collapsed in a sweaty heap, with Griff holding Jim and placing kisses on his back and neck. 

Slowly, they separated, and Griff got up to get a towel. Jim hissed as the slightly coarse material swiped his sensitive flesh, and he couldn't help but remember the soft plushness of the towels at the Plaza. But, he also couldn't deny that he felt so much better than he had all of those nights spent jerking off next door to Griff, so he didn't complain. 

Later, after a quick nap, lying close beside Griff, Jim decided that cold Chinese food after hot sex wasn't worth complaining about, either. 

* * *

"When you said that you were 'new' at this, you really meant _new_ , didn't you?" 

They had each taken a shower, and were lounging on the bed in their underwear feeling full from dinner and satisfied from all the rest. Despite the nagging idea that he should go, Jim really didn't want to leave. Griff's question caught him by surprise, and he looked up from where he had been admiring the muscular curves of Griff's legs, but he was unable to quite meet the other man's eyes as he mumbled something in the affirmative. 

"You've never been with _anybody_? I mean, any _man_?" 

"Not really," Jim said, his gaze focused on a hickey near Griff's shoulder. "Just...stuff, you know... Nothing like..." his hand made a waving motion, indicating Griff and the room. 

"I guess we should have talked a lot more about certain things. I wouldn't have... I mean, I don't regret anything that happened, but I hadn't expected things to go this far. Not tonight. I did want to get you naked, though." Griff chuckled as color rose to Jim's face, and he used one foot to rub circles on Jim's groin. "Do you regret any of this? Are you okay?" 

"Yeah, I think I'm fine. But, it...um...I can still feel it." And, in truth, it hurt, but every time that Jim focused on the pain, a lust-filled memory would come back to him, and some jolt of pleasure would hit him, overriding any discomfort. He was starting to imagine that by the next day it would be so intense that if he had to chase down a suspect, he might cream his pants from the pain that running might bring. But he kept that to himself. 

Griff nodded, nudging Jim again with his foot, smiling when Jim started to get hard. "I'm sorry, though. We probably should have gone about it differently or you could have done me." 

That thought took Jim to a full hardness, which Griff began to massage skillfully with his toes. 

"Like that idea, do you?" Griff whispered. 

Jim didn't answer, just sighed a little and arched up towards Griff's foot, increasing the pressure. 

"So, tell me about the 'stuff' you used to do," Griff said, his voice husky and low. 

"Just some...jacking off with a friend," Jim said, breathing heavily, remembering summer afternoons spent restoring a car with Tad Washburn in the relative seclusion of the Washburn's garage. Tad had been a good friend, a football teammate, and Jim had been totally surprised by the strong reaction he had started to have to Tad's presence, his body. He had been scared shitless of Tad finding out, imagining the worst possible scenario. But one day, it had been Tad who had hesitantly reached out and touched Jim, and Jim hadn't been able to help his response. "It just happened," he groaned, wanting to grab Griff's foot, or hand, or head... _anything_ to help put him out of his misery, "but we never talked about it." 

Griff turned, moved up Jim's body, letting his hand take over the work on Jim's cock. "Just felt each other up, huh? No kisses?" Griff pressed his lips to Jim's inner thigh. "No sucking?" He sucked lightly on the same spot. 

Jim shook his head, and his body was shaking too, as he answered Griff with incoherent rumbling noises. One of Griff's hands was stroking him through his boxers; the other had slipped inside and was pressing on that sensitive space behind his balls, triggering a sweet shock of pleasure/pain. Jim wanted more, unsure of how much more he could take. 

The strain eased some when Griff concentrated solely on slow pulls of Jim's cock, and started telling a story of his own about being attracted to his best friend in high school. 

"But there was no way that I would have said anything about it. It was years before I could even really admit it to myself. In college I ended up having sex now and then with guys. I thought it was okay as long as it was just an occasional physical thing, and it was easier than I had thought it would be to find men willing... love those athletes..." And Jim could hear the smirk in Griff's voice, then drowned it out with a moan. "But right before I graduated, I met this grad student at a party. He was so different from the people I usually hung with, and that night we drank a little and talked a lot, and, man, he pushed every button I had. I was lusting big-time, but I wasn't expecting anything to happen, and finally, I left. I didn't get far before he caught up to me, and we walked a bit, and he led me around a corner to the side of the dining commons, and he..." 

Griff pulled Jim's cock completely out into the open, squeezing a little harder, pumping a little faster, and described in explicit detail his encounter against the brick wall of a campus building. The voice, the words, the images, the sensations drove Jim higher and higher, and he came for the second time that night, spilling onto Griff's hand, while his boxers soaked up the overflow. Griff rolled off the bed, washed his hands and brought a wet cloth back for Jim, dropping it on Jim's stomach, which was rising and falling heavily as Jim caught his breath. 

"I ended up falling in love with that guy, I mean _hard_ , and I had to face the fact that my bisexuality went a little deeper than I originally thought. But that's a story for another day." There was a grin on his face as he watched Jim wiping himself off, but then his face sobered. "You really okay, Jim?" 

Way too worn out to even be self-conscious anymore, Jim simply said, "Yeah," as he tossed the washcloth aside. 

"And when you leave here, you're not going to start talking yourself out of...this?" 

Jim considered the situation, thinking about how he felt and how things might look in the light of day. There was at least one thing that he knew for sure. "I want to see you again." 

"That's a start," Griff said. "I'd like that, too. You ready to go?" He walked over, pulling Jim from the bed. 

"No," Jim replied, his hand going to the back of Griff's neck, grasping it and drawing Griff to him, his eyes closing when Griff nipped him sharply near his collarbone. 

"But you are anyway, right?" 

Warm breath tickled Jim's skin as Griff spoke, and Jim sighed. "Yeah, but I am anyway. I'm sorry...I..." 

"It's okay, Jim, do what you gotta do. I'm gonna leave, too. I only had this place for the night, and I'd rather sleep at the Plaza, especially if I can't sleep with you." 

Jim busied his hands with putting on his clothes so that he wouldn't be tempted to tackle Griff back to the bed. His soiled boxers ended up stuffed in his pocket, and as he adjusted himself inside his trousers, he was glad that he hadn't been wearing jeans. He finished and watched as Griff dressed, his body slowly concealed from Jim's view. They both moved to the door, and Jim leaned over and kissed Griff. It was just a peck somewhere on the corner of Griff's mouth, but it felt nice. 

As he opened the door, Jim said, "I'll talk to you later." 

"You better," Griff answered, picking up the small bag that he had brought along and walking out behind Jim. 

They said their goodbyes, heading off in different directions. During his ride home, every so often, Jim would shift in his seat, and subsequently flash onto some memory from the evening. It took very little effort for him to imagine the feel of Griff still inside him, and by the time he parked at his apartment building, he was already sorry that he would be spending the rest of the night in his bed alone. 

* * *

It was perfectly clear to Jim, though it took him a good long time to admit it, that he simply missed Griff. He had gotten used to Griff in a way that wasn't entirely physical. Not that he didn't feel that, as well, at night when he resolutely refused to jerk off, waiting for the next time when it would be Griff's hand or mouth or ass, hoping it would be soon. It had only been a little over two weeks since he'd seen him last, and he knew that Griff was in New York on business, but he had expected him back days ago and there had been no word. He had tried to shrug it off, but it was Friday night and he had the weekend off, a rare occurrence in recent weeks. He was all alone and for the first time in months, he _felt_ it, a sharp nagging sensation of loneliness. 

It was surprising to him that he had actually been...seeing...sleeping with Griffin Paris for an extended period of time. So soon after the divorce for him to be involved with anyone, much less a man, but there it was...there _Griff_ was, with Jim beside him, sharing time and space and bodies a few nights a week. Nights that Jim wasn't working or Griff wasn't caught up in a frenzy of writing or off on a trip to Atlanta. 

Griff had never again tried to get Jim to meet him at the Plaza even though he kept a room there whenever he was in town. Instead, notes and phone calls had directed Jim to a series of rendezvous at various motels off of the beaten path that weren't too different from where they'd first gotten together. Griff seemed to be working his way through the area's more 'colorful' choices--after Blue Moon, there had been the Silver Lake Motor Inn, then the Red Star and Golden Summit Motels, the Green Pines Motor Lodge and so on, until they had accumulated a list of names that would often make Jim smile. 

They went back to some places more than once, but Jim knew that he'd always have a special fondness for room 213 in a motel off of a long stretch of highway. Much the same way he felt about the place where he'd lost his _first_ virginity... the den of Donna Atkins' house, which was, ironically, across the street and four houses down from the Washburn home that would become significant a year later. He flashed back to a too-soft and too-short sofa that had stopped being annoying once he was between Donna's legs and pushing his way inside. Then it had become all about sweet scent and tight heat and the taste of perfumed sweat dripping down between small, perky breasts, creating a memory that had faded little over the years. Now a motel room with a straight-backed chair, worn, brown carpeting, and a big, lumpy bed would be forever etched in his brain thanks to Griff's wild, musky scents and the hot taste of Griff's dick in his mouth and the feel of Griff's hardness filling him. 

Jim groaned and mentally gave up the fight, shifting on the couch to pick up the phone, turning away from the television program that he hadn't been watching anyway. A few minutes later, he hung up, after a polite, disinterested voice informed him that, no, Mr. Paris had not checked into the Waterfront Plaza. He stood, walked to his balcony doors, fingers twitching restlessly as he held his hands behind his back and watched the lights in the distance, considering if he should go out. Maybe to that club, maybe actually going in, even if it were only to watch other restless souls go through the motions that he wouldn't. Or he could try to call Simmons... _Janet_ , he corrected himself...newly assigned to Taggart's bomb squad. She had been making a lot of eye contact lately... 

Despite his efforts at discretion, somehow word had gotten around that Jim Ellison was evidently back on the playing field, though they obviously hadn't figured out that he had switched teams. But they had picked up on something from him, and it seemed he was once again considered fair game. Lately, women had just been _everywhere_ , body language speaking volumes of hints and suggestions. Even Carolyn had been watching him differently...not interested, exactly, but no longer so distant, either. Almost as if she could finally relax again around him, assured that he had turned his attentions elsewhere. It made their working relationship less tense and Jim thought that somewhere down the line, maybe they would at least go back to being friends, the way they had been before walking down the aisle. Maybe. 

Unsurprisingly, Jim ended up not going out or calling anyone, choosing instead to go to bed, read a book, and listen to some music hoping it would put him to sleep. The book was good, interesting enough to keep him awake, but not enough to ultimately keep his thoughts from wandering. He missed Griff, and in the familiar stillness of his loft bedroom came a familiar feeling: guilt. 

There had been plenty of guilt when he'd finally noticed his marriage unraveling, because he knew that a lot of the blame was his own, and he had no clue how to fix things, hadn't even been sure if he wanted to fix anything anymore. When it was over and done, he had felt a certain joy at having his loft back to himself again...having his _life_ back to himself again, and he had felt guilty about that, too. And while he had been somewhat afraid that maybe he'd blown his only chance at sharing his life with someone, he felt bad knowing that he wanted another chance, but not again with Carolyn. 

And now, with Griff... Jim was starting to think that Griff might not come back to Cascade, and that the blame for that would be on him, as well. Griff hadn't criticized or questioned, but Jim felt the guilty burden of never having invited Griff to the loft, of making it so that they had to sneak around to cheap motels with quaint names where Jim didn't spend the night. Not to mention all of the takeout meals that he had willingly bought so that he wouldn't have to brave eating in public because he was sure that the attraction he felt was strong enough to swirl around them visibly like smoke. It weighed on him along with all of the conversations where he had listened intently but made only superficial contributions. 

Somehow he had forced a routine: they met, ate, had sex, talked, sometimes watching TV before having sex again. Jim couldn't complain, he had come to enjoy it... _all_ of it. He didn't want to let go of what he and Griff had, and though he recognized the unfairness of it, he didn't think he could handle a change. It made him wonder if he had learned anything at all from his failed marriage. And maybe the day had already come when Griff, too, had had enough. 

Trying to shake free of his thoughts, he tossed the book aside, turning off the light, welcoming the darkness. Not wanting to be alone wasn't the same as not being able to live alone, and Jim had acquired a certain proficiency at living alone. He rolled over, calling on years of experience to settle himself behind his defenses, determined not to let his troubling thoughts follow him into his dreams. And, as a testament to his will, he slept through the night undisturbed. 

* * *

Jim pushed himself to consciousness even while squeezing his eyes tightly shut and trying to ignore the ringing of the phone. He really just wanted to let it ring, but it might be the job, and as his mind cleared, he thought working a case held more appeal than the whole day stretching on with nothing to fill it, except maybe working out at the gym or tackling some of the mess in the spare room downstairs. So, he snatched up the receiver before his answering machine could click on with its greeting. 

"Yeah, Ellison." 

"Hey, Jim." 

Jim instantly felt a crazy fluttering in his belly at the sound of the voice, silently mocking himself for reacting so easily. 

"Did I wake you?" Griff continued, "I know it's kinda early..." 

"No, I mean, yeah, um...it's all right," Jim stammered. Questions tangled on his tongue, questions that he couldn't bring himself to ask like 'Where are you?' or 'Why haven't you called?' or 'When are you coming back?' He settled for something that seemed safer. "What's up?" 

"I was wondering if you could do me a favor. Are you working today?" 

"No, I've got the weekend off for a change," Jim said, sitting up in his bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

"Well, I was supposed to be back a few days ago..." 

"Yeah, I was wondering about that," Jim cut in before thinking. 

"Oh, damn, I should have called sooner. I had to leave New York and go home. My dad had a little trouble with his heart, took a trip to the hospital. Things got a bit hectic." 

"Shit. Everything okay now?" 

"Pretty much, he just needs to start taking it easy and enjoy his retirement." 

"Good. That's good." Jim knew how close Griff was to his father. Gus Paris had come up in more than a few conversations. Jim's father had come up exactly once, and only in response to a question from Griff. The answer had been short and to the point--'We don't really keep in touch', and Griff had looked at him strangely for a second, and then let it go at that. 

"It was a relief," Griff was saying, drawing Jim's attention back. "Anyway, I should be back by Monday, but I needed to meet somebody today...to pick up some...some research for the book I'm working on. Do you know 'Harbor's Point'?" 

"Yeah, yeah, it's that residential development just outside of town on the bay." 

"Right. You think you could run out there and pick up a package for me? The guy's leaving town and..." 

"Sure, no problem. So, you'll be back Monday?" 

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Look, the address is 1120 Clearview. I'll tell, uh, Mr. Klein that you'll be there around...what time?" 

"Let's see...I was going to go to the gym and then do some stuff around here..." Jim looked at his clock. "It's 8:30 now, would 10 be okay? That way I can go out there and take care of that first." 

"I think that would work out great. I'll let him know, and he'll be waiting for you. Thanks, Jim." 

"'S'okay. Call me when you get in, I'll meet you or something." 

"You got it," Griff said, then he lowered his voice. "So, I caught you still in bed, huh?" 

"Griff..." 

The edge of warning was unmistakable, but it only made Griff smile. "Naked?" he asked even softer. 

"Griff..." 

It came out as a hot-and-bothered plea that made Griff laugh. "You're so easy, Ellison." 

Jim didn't answer that; instead he said a quick goodbye, then lay there for a minute, mentally getting himself together. Something about the conversation with Griff had been off. Something in Griff's tone, something he'd said or hadn't said that had Jim's instincts buzzing, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Since he figured it was a safe bet that Griff wasn't using him as cover for a drug run, he got up, putting it from his mind, grabbing some clothes before heading to the shower. 

* * *

On the drive up to Harbor's Point, Jim had his windows down, enjoying the cool air. It was cloudy, but that wasn't unusual for Cascade, and the quiet, gray day seemed to set the perfect background for the passing scene of boats dotted here and there on the bay. He was already thinking about skipping his workout and cleaning the loft, in order to drive up in the mountains to the lake instead. It would be nice to fish or hike or just...breathe. And not think. Not think about how he missed Griff's body, his conversation, his laugh; or how in two days Griff would be back and some time over the next week, there would be a night or two where he could see him again and how much he was looking forward to that; or how he wasn't looking forward at all to the day when Griff would indeed go home and not return. 

Lost inside his thoughts, Jim overshot his turn onto Clearview and had to double back. He admired the houses he passed, the wonderful view that the occupants were able to enjoy every day, and made up his mind to drive up to the lake as soon as he got Griff's package. He didn't have his fishing gear, but he had some good tapes in the truck to listen to on the ride up, and he could stop to get a six pack and something to eat, take advantage of his day off and leave his cluttered spare room for another time. 

By the time he knocked on the door, his mind was occupied with trying to decide what he wanted for lunch that would go best with cold beer. 

* * *

Any suspicions that Jim may have had about his errand hadn't extended to Griff being the one to answer the door, bare-chested and barefoot, wearing only a pair of black jeans. His jaw dropped, opening so fast that he could swear he heard it click before he snapped it shut. Griff's eyes were sparkling, a self-satisfied grin on his face, obviously amused by Jim's reaction. 

"Hey, Jim, how's it hangin'?" 

Jim's eyes narrowed and he was proud of the way he recovered his composure, despite his growing hard-on and sweaty palms. "Long and low, Paris, long and low," he answered, grinning as well, though the smile was that of a dangerous predator. 

The issues that he had concerning Griff didn't keep him from knowing what he wanted right at that moment, and he went for it--stalking forward, excited by the look of surprise that crossed Griff's face as Griff took a few halting steps backward. 

"Gotcha," Griff said, no longer smug, but a little uncertain. 

'No, got _you_ ,' Jim thought as he pushed Griff back against a convenient wall. 

He took Griff by the wrists, spreading the other man's arms wide and holding them in place, pressing them back every time Griff tried to reach out. Eventually, Griff got the point, standing there as Jim touched him, resisting the urge to touch back. Jim rubbed his hands over the muscles of Griff's chest, thrilling to the feel of the body quivering at his touch. Moving in closer, he bent his head to one of Griff's nipples, biting and licking, his mouth working enthusiastically. Griff squirmed, but didn't move out of position, even when Jim dropped down to briefly nuzzle at his groin through his pants. 

Satisfying grunts filled the air, but Jim stood, swallowing them with a deep kiss, his hands never still, continually roaming over bare skin. Unexpectedly, Griff moved, his arms coming around Jim as he kissed back, pitching forward, losing his balance in his eagerness, and they wound up on the floor, Griff straddling Jim's thighs. They kissed again, bodies coming together, rolling around on the plush carpeting, Jim on top, then Griff, then Jim again. 

Jim took control, breaking the kiss, holding Griff's arms out the same way he had when they were standing, pinning Griff to the floor. First, he got rid of Griff's pants and tossed his own clothes aside. Then, he began licking, nipple to crotch, up and down, soft and rough, stealing kisses from Griff's lips every once in a while. He pushed Griff's knees back and apart, sniffing in the deep creases around Griff's balls before nibbling gently on the firm sacs and going even lower. The resulting loud moans were music to Jim's ears. His tongue lapped at the musky skin, and he sucked on the puckered opening, kissing and biting the cheeks of Griff's ass just to break the rhythm. He parted the twin mounds a little wider apart, plunging his tongue inside with short pulses, making Griff's whole body vibrate. And Jim was so hard...so damn _hard_... 

He turned Griff over onto his belly, easily slipping two fingers inside where Griff was already slick and opening up for him. Pushing in and out, brushing Griff's prostate, just a hint of what he was planning. 

"Griff?" 

In answer, Griff reached out, snagging his discarded jeans and tossing them back at Jim. A quick search of a back pocket brought a grin to Jim's face as he pulled out condoms and KY, and he chuckled at what had obviously been Griff's intent. His entry was swift and deep, all the way in with one thrust. He tried to take it slow, but the heat between them spurred him on more fiercely, his sweat splattering Griff's back. Still, it wasn't enough, and he pulled out, urging Griff to roll over, and he took him face to face, driving forward, rocking steadily with Griff's ankles locked around him, and he was loving it, wondering what could possibly be better than having sex with a man. Too soon, he could feel it coming...could feel his dick growing larger, getting harder... Griff reached down to jerk himself off, one arm moving fast and furious between them, and they both cried out as Griff came, clenching even tighter around Jim's cock, finally making Jim lose the last of his control. 

After a bit, they separated, and Jim collapsed on the floor beside Griff, trying to catch his breath. His knees hurt, his dick was tingling, his throat was raw, and he felt fucking fantastic. 

"So, I take it that you're not mad about my little surprise," Griff said, huffing the words out. 

Jim raised his head, peering at Griff with half-closed eyes. "Griff, tell me, do I look mad?" 

Griff rolled over, moving closer, sliding his fingers over Jim's sweaty skin. "No, you look..." his words faded as he leaned over biting Jim's left nipple. 

Reaching down, Jim fit his palm over the swell of Griff's ass, his voice husky when he spoke. "Besides, I think the rug burn you just got is payback enough." 

"Asshole." 

"Mmmm...yeah," Jim said, dipping his hand a little lower. 

"Oh, no you don't. Let's get the hell up from here." 

They struggled to their feet, and Jim took his first real look at his surroundings. "So, speaking of 'here'...I assume there's no 'Mr. Klein'?" 

"No, there is," Griff answered, leading them to a small half-bath down the hall. "I'm renting the house from him. I thought I might hang around and finish my book...and stuff. Save on some hotel bills." 

"And your dad?" 

"I wasn't kidding about him being in the hospital, and he's really doing a lot better now, but I was going to Atlanta anyway to pick up my car. I drove out here this time." 

Jim smiled, pleased at the realization that Griff was going to be around, have a permanent place where maybe it wouldn't seem so much like they were sneaking around, a place where Jim would spend some nights, starting immediately, because he had no intention of leaving any time soon. He rode the waves of happiness forward until he had backed Griff against the bathroom sink. 

"So...you lured a cop to your hideout under false pretenses..." 

"Yeah, but he nailed me." 

Laughter echoed around the room, bouncing off of the walls, and Jim turned Griff around, looking at their faces in the mirror above the sink, admiring the way Griff looked in his arms. When their gazes met in the glass, Jim recognized the expression in Griff's eyes, and felt the first ice-cold trickle shiver down his spine, but he refused to give weight to it, choosing instead to enjoy the day, the night, and whatever other time he would be able to get. 

"You got food in this place?" he finally asked. 

Griff nodded, not breaking eye contact. 

It was Jim who looked away. "Then, let's clean up and as another part of the payback, you have to eat my cooking." 

* * *

They had a simple, but delicious breakfast made by Jim's own hand, and both men ate with gusto. During the meal, Griff told Jim about how he had found the house weeks ago, and immediately had wanted to move in. 

"I wasn't sure how you'd take it...me staying..." he said, looking at Jim's face briefly before getting up from the table. 

"I thought maybe you weren't coming back," Jim countered, shrugging at the shocked look on Griff's face. 

"Jim, maybe you don't want to hear this," Griff said, sitting back down, "but, you know, we've been seeing each other for months and I'm not interested in anybody else. I love...being with you. I just want to keep on being with you." 

"Griff, you know..." 

"Yeah." Griff knew. Jim had a screwed-up marriage and a repressed sexual identity in his past, and no clear idea of how he would handle things in the future. 

"But," Jim continued, "I missed you and I'm glad to be here with you now." Jim stood, hoping to break the tense mood. "So, come on, show me around." 

"What do you want to see first?" 

"How about the bedroom?" 

Griff rolled his eyes. "You don't want to check out the big screen TV with the satellite system, or the master bathroom with the Jacuzzi tub, or the deck out back looking over the water, or..." 

Pulling Griff to his feet, Jim asked, "Which way to the bed?" 

"I'm starting to think that you're only interested in my ass." 

Jim grabbed the ass in question. "Not _only_ ," he said with a leer, but then, his face grew serious, and he moved his hands up Griff's arms to rest on the other man's shoulders. "There's a lot about you that interests me, Griff." 

Leaning forward, Griff licked a spot below Jim's ear. 

"Griff..." Jim wasn't sure that Griff had really gotten his point, and he felt a familiar frustration at not always knowing the best way to express himself. 

But when Griff started biting, sharp nips on Jim's neck in contrast to the teasing touches of Griff's fingertips up and down Jim's side, lust quickly began to override Jim's frustration. Griff maneuvered them down another hall to a large, handsomely furnished bedroom, and they were naked and rolling around on the bed in no time. As much as Jim wanted it, he didn't want Griff to think that was the only reason he was there, and his mind worked frantically looking for a way to show that without stopping the action. He didn't get the chance, because Griff slid down and proceeded to suck his brain out through his dick, and Jim lost the capacity for coherent thought altogether. 

Afterwards, Griff crawled up and settled half across Jim's body, his still-hard cock twitching against Jim's thigh. Jim reached down, grabbing hold of it and pumping slowly, feeling Griff's hips pick up the easy rhythm. There were soft gasps and the occasional moan or whimper as Jim took Griff on a slow, steady trip to dizzying heights. Without hurrying or pressuring, Jim transported Griff higher and higher, ignoring the attempts Griff made every so often to thrust harder or make Jim's hand go faster. It was a teasing, torturous journey at the end of which Griff quietly exploded, sobbing Jim's name. 

Jim got up and went to the bathroom, wiping himself off with some tissue before taking a leak. He debated whether to take a quick shower, but opted for going back to bed and the warm comfort of Griff. 

"You know," he said, as he lay down next to Griff's sprawled out body, "if you had clued me in, I could have brought a toothbrush and stuff, maybe even clean socks and underwear for tomorrow." 

Griff's eyes opened, giving Jim a bright, clear stare. 

"That is," Jim added, "if you wanted me to stay." 

Griff closed his eyes again, moving just a bit closer to Jim. "You gonna cook breakfast again?" 

"Sure, but that's about the only thing that I do well." 

"I wouldn't say the _only_ thing," Griff teased, then he yawned, rolling over to face away from Jim, but moving even closer to him. "I was on the road for twelve hours yesterday, so I'm going to crash for a while, okay?" 

"Okay." Jim placed a hand on Griff's hip, squeezing and rubbing a little. He thought again about taking a shower, and maybe checking to see about making sandwiches for lunch to surprise Griff, but minutes later, he had followed Griff to sleep. 

* * *

"Who is it?" 

The voice was muffled by the door, cautious but not scared. Griff had shown no overt effects from his brush with a stalker, but Jim was quick to reassure him, just in case. 

"It's me. Jim." 

The door opened, and Jim caught the look of pleased surprise on Griff's face. His own face wore a similar expression, he was sure, greeted as he was by the sight of Griff wearing nothing but a pair of navy blue silk boxers. A stunning sight, to say the least. 

"I didn't expect to see you for a few days," Griff said as he moved aside to let Jim enter. 

"Yeah, I know. The stakeout was called off on account of the suspect being stupid enough to be picked up on a traffic violation, saving us the trouble of camping outside of his girlfriend's house waiting for him to show up. Sorry that I didn't call, I just..." 

Jim's words died away as he took in the scene in front of him. There was a large bouquet of yellow and white flowers on the table in the small dining area, roses and lilies, Jim noted, along with others that he didn't recognize. A bottle of wine was on the glass coffeetable in front of the couch. It was opened, half empty, and a single wineglass sat next to it. A blue silk robe, obviously matching the boxers that Griff wore, was puddled on the floor, as if someone had stood, slipped it off, and let it stay where it had fallen. Slow music played softly on the stereo, a soulful ballad. Oblivious to Jim's staring, Griff kept moving towards the sofa. 

"Are you expecting somebody?" 

Looking over his shoulder, Griff's face showed a puzzled frown. "No, why?" he asked, settling on the couch, sitting back against an armrest and facing Jim. 

Jim hesitated. There was only one glass, and Griff rarely drank. Maybe someone had just left. He couldn't come up with any reason why Griff would be making his way through a bottle of wine by himself. Unless something was wrong, though Griff didn't really seem upset. Just a bit more subdued, Jim thought. 

"What's going on? Is everything okay?" 

"Fine. Are you staying or what?" Griff raised an eyebrow, nodding his head to where Jim still stood near the door. 

"Do you _want_ me to stay?" Jim knew his tone was a little testy, but he hated the feeling that he was missing something. 

"What's wrong with you?" Griff asked, clearly confused. "Why wouldn't I want you to stay. Since I've been here, have I ever _not_ wanted you to stay? Of _course_ I want you to stay." 

"I didn't want to interrupt anything," Jim said, practically mumbling it under his breath, his own confusion growing, not wanting to own up to the other emotion nipping at him with sharp, green teeth. 

Griff frowned again, his brow wrinkling, stared at Jim for a moment, then his face cleared, and he smiled. "Oh, you think.... No, Jim, this is no seduction thing you see here. Nobody's been here and nobody's supposed to show up. The flowers are from my agent." He picked up the wineglass, draining the last swallow. "This is just my attempt to have a quiet, mellow birthday celebration." 

"Your birthday?" Jim said, taking a step forward. 

"Yep, the big 3-0." 

"Shit. Why didn't you tell me?" But a part of Jim felt that he should have known, should have made a point to find out. 

"No big deal," Griff answered, shrugging his shoulders a little. "I thought about going home, but, well, changed my mind." 

"I, um, I feel bad for not knowing, for not doing something, getting you something." 

"I didn't want you to think that you had to do anything, that's why I didn't mention it. But, actually, this little surprise visit is kinda nice." 

"Yeah?" Jim walked to where Griff sat, standing over him. 

"Yeah." 

"So what do you want to do?" 

Pulling Jim down next to him, Griff kissed Jim softly on the lips. Jim kissed him back, palming his silk-covered crotch, making Griff hiss and arch towards Jim's hand. 

"Well," Griff said, when the kissing was done, "I was just going to watch some movies. You up for that?" 

"Sure," Jim grinned, thinking that he could distract Griff from that plan easily enough. 

But, fifteen minutes into "Top Gun", Griff had fallen asleep. Too much alcohol, Jim guessed, again feeling sorry that Griff had spent the evening drinking alone for his birthday, instead of truly celebrating. Dinner and dancing...ordinary activities that Jim had actively avoided indulging in with his _male_ lover. But he could have, would have planned something...could at least have bought a gift. Not that he had any idea what to buy. He was trying to think up a decent present when he found himself nodding off, head jerking as it lolled forward, coming awake suddenly. Deciding not to fight it, he shook Griff awake. 

"You leaving?" Griff asked around a yawn, as he eyed Jim drowsily. 

"No, you were snoring so loudly that I couldn't hear the movie, so I thought I might as well put you to bed," Jim teased, knowing that Griff's snoring was never that bad. 

"I don't snore." 

"Uh huh, and bears don't shit in the woods." 

"Jim...take me to bed or lose me forever." 

Unable to hold it in, Jim burst into laughter. "You're no Meg Ryan." 

"Yeah, but Meg Ryan ain't got what _I_ got," Griff shot back, managing to look both sleepy and sexy. 

Jim couldn't argue that point. "Go on to bed, I'll take care of things out here." 

As Griff went down the hall, Jim put the wine bottle in the refrigerator, rinsed the glass, picked Griff's robe up from the floor, and turned out all of the lights. When he got to the bedroom, Griff had already fallen back to sleep, lying in the middle of the bed, arms and legs spread out taking up most of the room. Jim didn't move him; he simply took the available space at the edge of the bed and rolled over so that one of his arms and legs could wrap around Griff's sprawled-out body. Jim usually stayed in the same spot all night, as if he had staked his claim in the bed and wasn't giving it up, while Griff tended to move around a lot more, not tossing and turning exactly, but gradually shifting as if following some guidelines available only to his subconscious mind. So, although he knew they wouldn't stay in that position, he had found that he always enjoyed the closeness of touching or holding Griff as he let sleep take hold. He rubbed Griff's back, small circles that Griff may not have been aware of, but that soothed something in Jim, and he easily fell asleep with one hand sandwiched between the smooth silk of navy blue boxers and the silky smooth skin of Griff's ass. 

* * *

Jim eased back into the house, checking to see if Griff was in any of the areas visible from the door. He brought a package in behind him, careful of its length as he maneuvered it through the doorway. There was no sound of the shower running, so he toed off his shoes and walked softly towards the bedroom, leaning the package against the wall in the hall before stepping into the room. Griff was lying on the bed, still wearing the silk boxers from the night before, one knee up supporting a leather notebook in which he was writing. A laptop was beside him, nested in the rumpled striped sheets. 

Without looking up, Griff reached out and picked up a mug from the nightstand and took a sip. "What are you up to, Ellison?" 

"What do you mean?" Jim replied, leaning inside the doorway. 

"Sneaking around early in the morning." 

"Sneaking around? I made coffee, left a note. That hardly classifies--" 

"Uh huh, whatever," Griff cut in, still not looking at Jim, putting his mug back down. "Spill it." 

With an easy, unhurried stride, Jim moved forward to the bed, throwing down a challenge in a pleasantly rough voice. "Make me." 

Griff's eyes widened for a second, then he smiled, slow and sexy. Closing his book and grabbing his computer, he deposited them gently on the floor by the bed. His words came out husky and low as Jim got on the bed between his legs. "Oh, I can make you spill something, but I can't guarantee that it would be information." 

Jim chuckled, the vibrations making Griff's dick jump as he suckled on Griff's balls through the silk. 

"You are a bad man, Detective Ellison..." 

Using his tongue, Jim teased Griff's balls some more, rolling them lightly, probing underneath. 

"...but so, so, good." Griff choked out. 

With another chuckle, Jim moved up to the hard flesh that was jerking noticeably inside its prison of blue, capturing it in his mouth, wetting the boxers from the outside, while Griff, leaking freely, wet them from within. The tangy moisture seeping through the fabric thrilled Jim's tastebuds, and he decided that Griff was wearing too many clothes. A situation that he quickly rectified. 

"I got you a birthday present," he whispered against Griff's inner thigh, breathing in the gloriously heady scent of night sweat and male heat from the juncture of Griff's legs. 

"Oh yeah?" Griff whispered back distractedly. 

Abandoning the idea of a surprise, Jim answered, "Yep... a fishing rod." Placing kisses along Griff's rigid length. 

"But, I don't really fish." The last word hissed out in pleasure. 

"You seem to be pretty good at throwing out your line and seeing what bites." As he spoke, Jim was eyeing Griff's cock, but his mouth moved back to Griff's balls, licking the newly exposed skin. 

"Yeah, and you reel 'em in without even trying." 

Jim flushed at that, pleased and embarrassed and a bit uncomfortable about the true meaning behind the statement. Over the months since Griff had been staying in the rented house, he could see that Griff had become even more attached to him. Jim felt closer to Griff, as well, but he knew that it wasn't in the same way, and neither of them had even attempted to broach the subject. And Jim wasn't about to at that moment. 

"I thought we might go up to the lake, rent a boat, spend the day on the water." 

Lowering his head, Jim swallowed Griff to the root, wiry hairs scratching gently at his nose as he moved up and down. He smiled to himself over how good he had gotten since his first time, how much he had come to love it, the feel, the taste, the whole act of giving a blowjob. 

Groaning, Griff responded, "I vote for spending the day in bed." 

Tonguing around the swollen head, Jim took one last slurp on Griff's cock, and let it slip from his mouth. "Getting a little overexcited in your old age, huh?" He slid roughly up Griff's body, and even through his jeans he could feel the hard heat between Griff's legs. 

"You're the old man," Griff rejoined, one of his hands slipping into Jim's back pocket, squeezing Jim's ass, the other ruffling back over Jim's hair. 

"Not so old." In retaliation for the indirect crack about his slightly receding hairline, Jim rocked his hips, grinding his cock into Griff's, eliciting a moan. 

"No, not at all." 

"So, are you sure you want to stay in?" 

Bucking upwards, initiating another bump and grind, Griff asked, "Are you sure you want to go _out_?" 

"Well, we can start--" 

There was a sudden, loud knocking at the door. 

"Shit!" Griff exclaimed, eyes closing as he quickly debated whether or not to answer. The knocking was repeated, and he made his decision. "It's probably another birthday delivery from my family." He got up, slipped into the robe that Jim had left on the chair, tying the belt and adjusting himself underneath. "Wait... you didn't arrange some kind of 'strip-o-gram' to show up here, did you?" Bobbing his eyebrows, he gave Jim a grin. 

Jim held his hands up. "Not me. But feel free to get naked again once you come back." 

As Griff laughed and left to answer the door, Jim lay back on the bed, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling down the zipper. Just as he raised his hips to wriggle free of the denim, he heard a female voice shout, "Surprise!" and he froze, then bolted upright on the bed. 

Jim could hear Griff saying "What are you doing here?" and then the voices lowered. His pants were left gaping open and his mouth was hanging wide open, as well. He strained to hear, only catching a stray now and again, noting that neither Griff nor the woman sounded particularly upset. Though he was tempted to get up, creep down the hallway and eavesdrop, he resisted, and was still in the same spot when Griff came back with a serious look on his face. 

"Jim, it's my sister. She was visiting a friend in Seattle and decided to drop in and surprise me for my birthday. I should have known something was up when she didn't call me yesterday." 

"Everything okay?" 

"Yeah, but she wants to stay for a few days. Look, I know you're not exactly comfortable with people seeing you as... Well, she knows about you... me and you, I mean. That I've been seeing a guy named Jim that's a cop." 

Jim only nodded. He hadn't thought about it too much, that even though he kept his relationship a secret on his end, there might be friends and family that Griff had already told. It wasn't like he had asked Griff not to tell anyone and he hadn't considered that the two worlds might collide. Now it seemed they had, in a way, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. 

"So, you gonna come meet her? You don't have to hang around if you don't want to, but I think you'll like her... Gigi grows on you." The last was said with a hint of exasperated affection that Jim recognized as the sound of an older brother. In the past, he himself had spoken that way.... 

Cutting off that train of thought, Jim answered, "It's okay, Griff." And it was starting to feel 'okay'. At least, it was very unlikely that Griff's little sister would hit the media with the shocking headlines: 'Detective James Ellison of the Cascade PD Caught in Love Nest with Bestselling Author'. He got up, leaving the room with Griff, who suddenly elbowed him in the side. 

"You might want to zip up," Griff said, trying to hide a grin at Jim's embarrassed look. 

After fixing his pants, Jim went out to meet their unexpected guest. As they passed through the hall, he picked up the wrapped fishing gear he had left there earlier, carrying it with him. A young woman was coming out of the kitchen, glass of water in hand, when they walked into the living room. She was pretty, with a sweet face--deep, chocolate eyes, caramel-colored skin, and curly hair, which was reddish-brown like cinnamon. Jim could see the resemblance to her brother; it showed in her eyes and her smile. When they approached, she crossed her arms, her gaze assessing, but bright with amusement. 

"Jim, this is my sister, Giselle. Gigi, this is Jim." 

"So, you're the man that caused my brother to move all the way across the country, huh?" 

"Gigi," Griff said, before Jim could answer, "I'm up here writing, I haven't _moved_ \--" 

"So, you're just giving up your condo--" 

" _Gigi_." 

Giselle shrugged her slim shoulders, and turned to Jim. "Okay, okay. Nice to meet you, Jim..." 

Jim heard the question in her voice. "Ellison. Nice meeting you, too, Gigi." 

"Let's make a deal, Jim. You don't call me Gigi and I won't call you...um..." She paused, looking him up and down. "... _Jimmy_." 

Smiling a little, Jim said, "That's a deal." He took the hand that she extended, shaking it, surprised when she stretched up and gave him a peck on the cheek. 

Suddenly, Giselle pulled back, looking at him hard. "Wait a minute. Ellison? As in _Detective_ Ellison?" When Jim nodded, she glared at her brother. "You've been holding out on us, Griff," she said, before turning back to Jim. "He didn't tell us that his...that you...that 'Jim' and 'Detective Ellison' were the same. I have to thank you for saving my brother's life." 

"Just doing my job," Jim responded, fighting the color rising to his face. 

Giselle crossed her arms again, overtly checking Jim out. "He's cute," she said, grinning over her shoulder at Griff. Jim lost his struggle, and his face grew pink. 

"Gigi, behave," Griff warned. 

"I am behaving," she shot back, "I haven't made any comments about what you guys were up to, and how come you're naked under that robe, have I?" 

"Would you believe that I just dropped by to give him his birthday gift?" Jim asked, indicating the package that he was still holding onto. 

Giselle laughed, a rich, melodious sound not unlike her brother's. 

"Since we've just met," Giselle giggled, "I'll refrain from making remarks about you wrapping up something incredibly _long_ and giving it to my brother." 

"Forgive her, Jim. We keep hoping that she'll mellow out as she gets older." 

Jim kept his mouth shut, making sure that he didn't say anything about 'rods' or 'poles'. 

"Gigi, do you think you can manage to not totally embarrass Jim for a few minutes while I go get dressed?" 

"Don't worry, Jim's safe with me." She hooked her arm through Jim's, leading him to the couch. "So, Jim, I apologize in advance in case I get a bit too nosy, but you're the first of Griff's boyfriends that I've actually had a chance to meet." 

Jim looked helplessly in the direction that Griff had gone as Giselle pulled him down to sit beside her, his mind tripping over her statement. If he was classified as one of Griff's 'boyfriends', that meant that Griff was _his_ boyfriend. That troubled him, even though, he admitted to himself that if he had been seeing a woman and having sex with her for even half the time that he spent with Griff, he wouldn't have had a problem with _her_ considering him her boyfriend. Yet, with Griff he had avoided holding up what they had and naming it. 

In the short time that Griff used to get dressed, Giselle managed to ask quite a few questions-- mostly about Jim being a cop and his background as a soldier--as well as provide some personal tidbits about Griff when he was younger. She was just starting to turn her attention to Jim and Griff as a couple, when Griff returned. He was wearing a white, lightweight cotton sweater with dark gray jeans, and carrying a pair of combat boots. Jim noticed that Griff had shaved, and he couldn't stop the memory flashes of how Griff's smooth jaw felt to his fingers, his thighs. Different from how the shadow of stubble felt rubbing those same places, but no less appealing, and his body responded automatically to Griff's natural sexiness. 

"Earth to Ellison, earth to Ellison..." Giselle's voice sang out, full of friendly laughter. 

"You know, Jim, I bet she'll shut up if we feed her. How about we all go find someplace to have breakfast? Unless you have to get back..." 

Jim knew that Griff was politely giving him an out, and he thought he should probably leave and give them time to catch up as a family, but, clearly, Griff wanted him along, and he really didn't feel like spending the day alone. He'd found that one of the problems with being a cop married to a cop was that too many of their friends were the same. When he and Carolyn were going through the divorce, Jim had avoided certain people and certain situations, not wanting to create any awkward scenes. And then, of course, since seeing Griff, (being Griff's _boyfriend_ , a part of his mind whispered), he had cut himself off even more from his usual social circle. He was a man who often enjoyed solitude, but, right then, he much preferred the company of Griff and Giselle, despite how much he had been looking forward to a day spent with Griff alone. 

"Whatever you guys want to do is fine by me," he said, and was rewarded by twin smiles that had him smiling back. 

Giselle insisted on driving her rental car into Cascade, and Jim rode in the back, listening with interest to the banter going on up front between the other two. He didn't allow himself to feel envious of their obviously close relationship. If he and his own brother had grown up and grown apart, there was no point dwelling on it, so he put it aside, determined to have a good time. 

* * *

Contrary to Griff's earlier prediction, eating didn't really keep Giselle from indulging in the fine art of conversation. She seemed reluctant to let there be a moment of silence, and Jim began to pick up on subtle signs that there was something on her mind, something bothering her maybe, so that she was using the constant chattering as distraction. Her hands fidgeting, her eyes not really meeting theirs, her attention not staying focused on any one thread of conversation as she picked at the food on her plate. And finally, when there was indeed a noticeable pause, the next time Giselle spoke, she made an announcement. 

"I'm moving to New York." It came out of the blue, totally unrelated to anything previously said, and Jim thought that she seemed to instantly relax. 

Griff, on the other hand, sounded a bit agitated. "What do you mean you're moving to New York? I thought you were going to move out of the house and take my condo?" 

"Yeah, I was going to talk to you about that." 

"What about grad school? All of your plans?" 

"I changed my mind." 

"Gigi," Griff said, pointing his fork at her, "Mom and Dad..." 

"Griff, I know what Mom and Dad want," Giselle said, pushing her plate away, and leaning in her brother's direction, "but, I'm not a little girl, I'm 23, and I know what _I_ want." 

Griff met her gaze, but softened his voice. "Which is?" 

"I'm going to take a job at this little gallery and work on doing something with my art. I think I'm talented enough." 

"I think so, too. You know that," Griff told her, and Jim recalled the many times that Griff had mentioned Giselle's artistic ability, stating that he envied the way that she could take images in her head and bring them so easily to life. "But, I thought you _wanted_ to go to school. You and Ty had everything all planned out." 

"Yeah, well, Tyrone Bates is history." 

"You broke up with Ty? No way. Your mother would never have been able to keep _that_ to herself." 

"I haven't told them. I haven't told them any of this. I wanted to talk to you first." 

"You don't need me to back you up, Gigi. Mom and Dad trust your judgment and they'll support you, you know that." 

"But, I know they're not really ready for me to leave Atlanta, especially now that you're all the way out here." 

They both cut quick glances at Jim, who pretended to be absorbed in buttering a piece of toast. 

"They'd handle it better if you're on my side," Giselle continued. 

"Hey, I'm always on your side. So, tell me, what happened with Ty?" 

Giselle turned her attention back to her plate, spearing some sliced melon roughly with her fork. "I found out he'd cheated on me and has a six month old daughter to prove it. Bad enough to be fucking around..." She dropped the fork, leaving the fruit uneaten. "...but to be fucking without a rubber." With a start, she stopped talking, looked up at Jim. "I'm sorry, Jim. I know you don't want to hear all of this." 

"Don't worry about it. I'm sorry that it turned out that way." 

"Yeah. Five years to find out that he's no good. Not to mention homophobic." Giselle looked at her brother, touched his hand where it lay on the table. "He made some crass remarks about you that pissed me off, too." 

"Really?" Griff asked. "I always thought Ty was cool with me and...everything." 

"Same here," Giselle replied. "Good riddance, I guess." 

"So, you're not just running away...from Ty and the whole mess, are you?" 

"No, but I think it'll be good for me to get out of Atlanta. Look, I'm not going to pretend that I'm totally over him, but _we're_ over. I spent the past week in Seattle driving Monica crazy with my venting, plus doing a lot of thinking, and I know this seems sudden, but I've got to get on with things... _my_ things. I've always wanted to do this, I've just decided to move up the time frame a little. Come on, Griff. You should understand...remember when you started writing your first novel?" 

"I know where you're coming from, I just want you to be sure." 

"I am. Just trust me." 

"I do, but I don't want you to make a decision when you're upset and not thinking clearly. Now, what's this about a job?" 

"It's not that much, really, but I was talking to Jeff and--" 

"Jeff? Tell me you don't mean... _Jeff_." 

"Uh..." Giselle looked at Jim who had given up pretending not to be interested. "Look, Griff, he called the house looking for you, and we got to talking, and he mentioned that he had a friend..." 

"Giselle...what did you...never mind, I probably don't want to know." 

Until the check arrived, the rest of the conversation sort of stumbled along, and Jim kept up his end by nodding and mumbling encouragingly in all the right places. He thought that the best thing for him to do would be to take off and leave them alone to work out Jeff and New York and whatever else there was. But, after they left the restaurant, Giselle asked where there was a bookstore, and she followed Jim's directions to a decent-sized shop where they ended up whiling away a few hours. They checked out Griff's last book, giving him a bad time about the horrible publicity photograph on the back, before each going off in different directions. Jim wandered off to the magazine section, then went down various aisles that covered some of his eclectic interests. As he turned one corner, he saw Griff and Giselle talking intently in front of a display of oversized 'coffeetable' books, and changed directions so that he wouldn't interrupt. Eventually, he settled into a relatively comfortable chair between the 'how-to' and 'philosophy' sections to browse through the volumes that he had gotten from the shelves. 

By the time that Griff found him, asking if he was ready to go, he was indeed ready, especially since his chair hadn't turned out to be so comfortable after all. He bought one book, and then followed Griff and Giselle from the store, noting that the air between them seemed much less tense than before. Back at the house, Giselle convinced him to play a game of chess on a set that he hadn't even known that Griff possessed, while Griff tapped away on his laptop, funky jazz playing unobtrusively in the background. Before he knew it, they were having a late lunch/early dinner before watching a movie that Giselle thought was hilarious but that only had the two men making faces and rolling their eyes. 

The moon was out, reflecting its glow on the water, when Griff got up to close the curtains, and though it wasn't that late, Giselle announced that she was ready to get to bed. Griff carried his sister's bags into the den, and provided her with pillows and linen for the pullout sofa bed there. She kissed Jim on his cheek, punched her brother playfully in the stomach, and said goodnight. 

It was the first time that the two men had been alone since Giselle had shown up, and Jim was immediately aware of that fact when Griff dropped back down next to him on the sofa. All day, he had made a point of not being too close and touching as little as possible. Not only hadn't they not really gone out in public together since they'd been seeing one another, they had never been together in private with anyone, either, until Giselle's visit. Her knowledge of their personal relationship had made Jim feel comfortable in a way, seeing her see them without censure in her eyes or manner, but not comfortable enough to totally relax the way he usually did when by himself with Griff. And, to his embarrassment, he found himself getting hard the minute that they were alone. 

Griff pushed buttons on the television remote, stopping on some action-adventure movie that Jim remembered wanting to see when it had first come out in the theaters. He watched for a few minutes, but couldn't concentrate on the screen, too aware of Griff's thigh pressed alongside his own, the faint scent of aftershave, the way Griff's fingers curled around the remote control still in his hand. 

"Um...it's getting late, I should probably go," he finally said, rubbing his palms on his pants, shifting slightly to the right, away from Griff. 

"Or you could stay," Griff said, not looking at him. 

"Griff, really, I shouldn't..." 

"Jim, she already knows about us." Griff turned to face Jim, bringing one leg up on the couch so that his sock-clad foot brushed Jim's leg. 

"I know." 

"So?" 

"So...nothing." 

"So you don't even want to watch the rest of the movie?" 

"Sure," Jim answered, "we could do that." 

"Or..." Griff said, leaning forward and grabbing Jim's hand, tugging him closer, "we could just do this..." 

With Griff underneath Jim, they began kissing, long and slow, groins bumping lightly as they moved against each other. It went on for endless moments where Jim actually forgot there was someone else in the house with them. 

Griff swallowed Jim's soft moans with his mouth and controlled the motion of their hips with the grip of his hands. "Jim," he finally whispered, his breath warm in Jim's ear, "let's take this into the bedroom, okay? This couch isn't big enough for the both of us." 

With a groan, awareness returning, Jim let his full body weight collapse down onto Griff, dropping his head on Griff's shoulder. "Griff...we can't do this...your _sister's_ here." 

"And any minute she could come out and see you dry humping her brother...let's go on back." 

Jim twisted around, sitting up, taking deep breaths that did nothing to calm the throbbing hardness inside his pants. Stupid, really, that he couldn't even control himself long enough to get out of the door. And Griff was right, Giselle already knew that they were lovers, and it wasn't as if he _had_ to have sex with Griff that night, though at the moment, he wanted nothing more than to come _quickly_. 

"Look, Jim, I don't want you to be uncomfortable, really. So, it's okay, maybe you should go." 

Standing, Jim held out a hand, helping Griff to his feet. "Or...maybe I could stay." The smile on Griff's face thrilled him almost as much as the kiss they'd just shared. 

"Well, all right. And don't worry, I won't make you scream _too_ loud," Griff laughed softly. 

Jim grabbed Griff by the arm as he started to walk away and groped him none too gently between the legs, leaning over to whisper in his ear. "And who was that who was _squealing_ like a girl last week?" 

"Hey...I told you to stay away from my toes, man," Griff gasped, moving against Jim's hand. 

Choking back a laugh, Jim pushed Griff out of the room and down the hall. "You know," he said as they were getting undressed, admiring the silhouetted bulge of Griff's crotch and the way Griff's chest looked sculpted in moonlight, "we could just try to get some sleep." 

Griff dropped his boxers, his dick bobbing into view and swaying slightly as he walked towards Jim. "Yeah, or we could do this..." 

* * *

"I think maybe I should tell you about Jeff..." 

The words filtered through the satisfied hum of Jim's afterglow, drawing his attention from the residual tingling of his whisker-burned ass to the low rumble of Griff's voice. He was used to Griff initiating conversation while they were relaxed and cooling down after a bout of hot sex. 

"You don't owe me any explanations," Jim murmured, though, in a way, he was curious. 

"Maybe not, but it seems weird to me, having it hanging out there. Gigi...well, Gigi has a way of insinuating herself into my personal affairs, sometimes without even trying." 

"I've noticed that, but I like her." 

Griff chuckled, the sound tickling across Jim's shoulder. "I told you that you would." 

After a minute, where they settled a bit more comfortably against one another, Griff spoke again. 

"Jeff is this guy that I was seeing back when I was still doing that last publicity tour." 

Jim remembered the occasional phone calls, Griff's voice low and sexy in a way that Jim had become intimately familiar with in the time since. 

"I liked him," Griff was saying, "but I...well, after I left here, you were always on my mind, and even if you and I hadn't eventually gotten together, it wouldn't have been fair to keep seeing him." 

Not knowing how else to respond, Jim kissed him. 

Secretly, Jim was thrilled that obviously Griff had chosen _him_ , but it troubled him, as well. He felt that there were things he should say...things he knew that Griff would want to hear, yet he wasn't able to speak the words. As usual, it weighed heavily on his mind. Though he didn't often reveal much of himself during their late-night talks, Griff's revelations almost always gave him something to think about, considering how the various situations that Griff had gone through might play out in his own life. More than once, it had occurred to him that that might be Griff's intent, to get him to think, and maybe therefore to act. Griff's stories about the process of admitting certain feelings and coming out to family and friends caused Jim to reflect on what it might be like to step outside of the comfortable cocoon that he himself had created when it came to Griff. But it was still inconceivable to him, telling someone that he had sex with a man, had feelings for a man. Somehow, he couldn't seem to picture himself going through with it. 

He chased those serious thoughts away by kissing Griff more intensely, rolling over and pulling Griff closer, taking both of their cocks in his fist, pumping firmly, so that they both came quickly and noiselessly. Cheap trick, Jim knew, deflecting Griff that way, but it was all he had the courage for at the time. Still, Griff got the last word, mumbling 'I love you' as he was falling off to sleep, leaving Jim to wrestle with that in his dreams. 

* * *

The next morning when Jim woke, he lay in bed trying to ignore his full bladder, not wanting to get up just yet. He listened to the regular rhythm of Griff's breathing and tried to hear if there were signs of life from Giselle down the hall. Lying naked in bed with a man and anticipating the sounds of another person there with them made him a bit uncomfortable. It crossed his mind to simply get dressed and leave before either Griff or Giselle awoke, but, in the end, he threw on his jeans, grabbed the rest of his clothes, and after relieving himself and taking a shower, decided to do something innocent-looking like cooking breakfast. 'Jim, she knows about us,' he heard Griff's voice saying again in his head, and despite the truth of that, it was still awkward--someone _knowing_. A quick look turned up no eggs, so he busied himself making coffee while trying to settle his mind. 

By the time he was at the table drinking his first cup, Gigi walked into the kitchen. Her hair was wildly tousled from sleep and she was wearing a thick, black robe that he recognized as the one Griff had left hanging in the bathroom. 

"Hey, Jim," she said, going to the cabinets over the sink, opening doors. "Griff still in bed? What'd you do? Wear him out last night?" 

"Do I have to muzzle you, girl?" 

Giselle jumped and turned around at the sound of her brother's voice, clutching the glass she'd just retrieved tightly to her chest, but she quickly recovered. "Watch it... don't make me have to use my karate on you." 

Jim, saved from having to respond, just watched the two interact. 

"Don't make _me_ call Mom and tell her that you and Ty just eloped." 

"You wouldn't dare tell her that lie..." Not totally convinced by the expression on her brother's face, Giselle relented. "Okay, okay. You're so touchy. Jim knows that I was just playing." She looked into the refrigerator. "How come there's no juice in this house?" 

Griff walked over to her, clapping Jim briefly on the shoulder as he passed, and reached around her to open the freezer section, getting out two cans of concentrate. "You know, Gigi," he said as he mixed up a pitcher of orange juice, "you're gonna have to tell them about your change of plans and about Ty and everything." 

"I know, I know." 

"So..." 

"So, that doesn't mean that I have to do it _yet_ ," she said, pouring herself some juice, and ending the discussion by leaving the room. 

"You think she's still hung up on that Tyrone guy?" Jim asked, getting up to refill his mug. 

"Yeah, probably so. First love and all that, plus they were together for a long time." Griff poured his own cup of coffee, and stood next to Jim. "But, she's tough. She'll be okay." He took a sip. "So...you okay?" 

"Fine, why?" Jim peered over the rim of his mug as he drank, anticipating a conversation for which he wasn't ready. 

"Gigi giving you a hard time about me." 

"No, it's okay, really. It's...different, though. Joking around like that...having her here. But it's...it's nice." 

"I'm glad that you stuck around. That was nice, too." 

"I was going to make my 'world-famous' omelettes," Jim said, changing the subject, "but you're out of eggs." 

"I know. I need to go shopping. I tend to make do when I'm writing a lot, and I wasn't expecting to have two houseguests." He grinned at Jim, and went to the refrigerator. "There's cheesecake, though. Dairy, fruit, that counts as breakfast food in my book. Want some?" 

"Count me in," Jim answered with a laugh. 

While Griff cut two slices, Jim refilled Griff's coffee cup, black with a touch of sugar the way he knew Griff liked it. Mega-doses of caffeine seemed to be Griff's only vice, so he knew Griff hadn't yet had enough. They ate silently, during which Jim could hear the shower running and then sounds of Giselle bumping around in the den. 

"So, whatcha got going for today?" 

"I thought I'd hang out here a little while longer," Jim said, swallowing his last bite, "and hit the road this afternoon. I have stuff to do at home and an early day tomorrow. Nothing major up at work so far, but you know..." 

"Yeah, shit happens." Griff was well acquainted with how unpredictable a cop's life could often be. 

"Can I ask you a question?" Jim had gotten up to rinse his dirty dishes, and kept his back turned as he spoke. 

"Sure." 

"Gigi said that she'd never met any of your...any men that you'd been involved with." 

"And you want to know why?" Without waiting for a response, Griff continued. "It's not that I've been hiding anybody. I tell my family when I'm seeing someone seriously, but I guess that even though they've handled everything well so far, I haven't wanted to test them that way. Getting them up and close and personal with my male lovers. My mom keeps hinting, but...I don't know." 

Jim sat back down at the table, watching the emotions play across the other man's face. It was oddly encouraging to see that for all of Griff's self-assurance about his sexuality, that he still had his own hurdles. 

Gigi made another brief appearance, this time wearing oversized sweats and carrying a large pad of paper. She got another glass of juice and announced that she was going outside to sketch for a while, missing Griff's mumbled remark about her going to _sulk_ for a while. When she finally returned, Jim and Griff were deep into a third game of chess, and debating the choices of a TV special playing in the background about the top ten athletes of the year. Gigi settled on a nearby couch and began drawing, not breaking when the two men stopped for soup and sandwiches later on, only moving when Jim stood up, saying that it was time for him to leave. 

"Wait, I want to show you something," she said, going to meet them at the door, holding out her pad. 

Both men stared. It was a drawing of them, smiling, their faces turning slightly toward one another. Jim thought that to most people it would look as if they were just sharing a private joke, but to someone who _knew_ , the expression, the sideways glances, said they were sharing something even more private. And to Jim himself, it seemed to plainly show what he'd briefly glimpsed once while watching Griff's reflection in the bathroom mirror. The silent proclamation spoke volumes more than Griff's murmured words the night before, and Jim's heart stopped for a beat or two. 

"You don't like it? I know it needs some work, but..." 

"No," Jim said, cutting in, "it's very good." 

"Shit, Gigi," Griff added, "it's great." 

"I thought I might tweak it a bit, then do a small painting from it. An apology gift for dropping in on the two of you. I know I've been teasing you guys, but seriously, Jim, it's been so great to meet you. You have to ignore my 'kid sister' moments. And, Griff, I just love actually getting to see you _with_ someone and so happy." 

"You're always welcome here, kid," Griff said, pulling his sister into a hug, "but you better watch it, I've told Jim not to take it easy on you the next time you're giving him a bad time." 

" _You_ watch it," she said, smiling, taking Jim by the arm, "I've got some prime tidbits I can share with Jim about you." She reached up to kiss Jim on the cheek. "Bye, Jim. We'll talk later when certain people aren't around." Winking at him before she took her sketchpad and plopped back down on the couch to the sound of their laughter. 

"Do you mind?" Griff asked as he opened the door to let Jim out. "About the picture?" 

Jim shook his head. Truthfully, it wasn't that he _minded_ exactly. "I've gotta go." Deliberately, he leaned over, kissing Griff on the lips, hoping to convey that he didn't feel a little shaky inside, even though he did. 

"See you, Gigi," he called out. Chuckling as she yelled back, "We had a deal, _Jimmy_." 

He was still smiling as he drove home. Despite the uncertainty about how his situation with Griff would resolve itself, there hadn't been many times when someone had looked at him with love in their eyes, and he had to admit that it felt good. 

* * *

"Ellison! Last line's for you." 

Inwardly, Jim groaned. He knew it had been a mistake to check back in at the station. After a longer than expected day in court, all he wanted was a hot shower and a cold beer and to make an early night of it. What he didn't want was some unexpected problem from someone tracking him down. 

"Sounds like some sweet piece," he heard as he reached his desk. He paused, finger over the blinking light, and glared at Dan McGregor, thinking, not for the first time, that he was glad the aging detective would soon retire. 

"Ellison." 

"Detective Ellison, Giselle Paris calling, requesting the pleasure of your company for dinner this evening." 

"Hey, how are you doing?" 

"Good. So, how's about it? My big brother is treating me to dinner at La Buona Vita. So come on and join us." When Jim hesitated, Gigi rushed on. "I'm not taking 'no' for an answer. Don't you want to have dinner with me on my last night?" 

"You're leaving?" 

"Can't stay here forever." 

Looking down at himself, Jim noted that at least he was already wearing a suit, and it didn't look too rumpled from his day. Maybe if he splashed some cold water on his face, he might feel somewhat revived. "Okay, what time?" 

"7:30." 

"I'll be there." 

"Great. See ya." 

"Bye." 

Jim hung up, ignoring what he was sure would be the all-knowing leers from those still left in the bullpen. He calculated that by the time he left the building, word would have gotten around that what had been speculation about his alleged lovelife could actually be confirmed. After a quick trip to the bathroom, he went back to his desk, checked his in-box, shuffling through the items and putting the most important on top before dropping them back in, gaining a disproportionate sense of accomplishment from the act. On his way to the elevator, he heard a voice behind him say, "Hey, Jim, wait up." He turned, letting Simon catch up to him, and they walked the rest of the way together. 

"I hear you're off the sidelines and suiting up again," Simon said, pressing the 'down' button. 

"Sir?" 

"You know...with women... going out. Nice to see that there is life after divorce." 

'Didn't even make to the elevator,' Jim thought. The Major Crimes grapevine was working overtime. He knew that Simon was having his own marital problems, but was trying to stick it out. Though Jim believed that Simon was having mostly concerned about how divorce would affect his son, Darryl. 

"Come on, Simon. Not you too. Give me a break, here." 

"I'm not trying to get into your business, Jim," Simon said, holding up his hands in surrender. "You're just...well, you were stressed after the divorce." Doors opened and they stepped into the empty elevator. "There were a few times back during the Paris case that I thought you were going to explode. I had started to regret asking you to take on the extra duty. But you came through, like you always do, and you've been more on your game since. I know this shit with Joan makes me act a little tough around here sometimes." He harrumphed at Jim's discreet cough. "Fine, tougher than usual. Anyway, it's good to see you come out the other side all right." 

Jim snorted to himself at Simon's choice of words. He wondered how glad the other man would be if he explained that the young, pretty girl that everyone thought he was seeing was in fact a good-looking man. Or that he'd found that getting fucked on a regular basis wasn't bad as a stress reliever. 

"You coming, Jim?" 

Shaken from his thoughts, Jim noticed that they were already on the garage level. "Yeah, guess I'm a little tired tonight." 

"Right, how did it go in court today?" 

"Too long and too many lawyers," he said to make Simon laugh. 

"I hear that. Well, I better get a move on. I'm already late for dinner at home." 

They parted ways, going off in opposite directions to retrieve their vehicles. 

Covert Ops had taught Jim a lot about keeping secrets, but it still felt odd, living a secret life, having something that he couldn't share with anyone, not even Simon who had proven to be a good friend as well as an able captain over the years. For a brief, madcap moment, Jim considered catching up to Simon at his car and telling him everything, certain that Simon would be okay with it. Surprised maybe, but surely not hostile. 

But then, Simon drove by, beeping his horn as he passed on his way out of the garage, and the moment was lost. 

* * *

Before Jim had even gotten into his main course at La Buona Vita, Giselle had admitted that it wasn't exactly her _last_ night in town, ignoring the glare from her brother at her deception. But, as usual, the food was good, the company was better, and Jim was glad that he had joined them. Giselle also managed to get him to accompany them to a gallery opening, a film festival, and even a club that featured a range of music from acid jazz to funk to old disco tunes. A little loud and wild for Jim's tastes, but he and Griff got to tease Giselle about the tall, nerdy guy who kept coming around making eyes at her the whole night, but never got up the courage to ask her to dance. Once, she tried to get them to take her to Apex, a gay club that often drew a mixed crowd, but, to Jim's relief, Griff diverted her from that idea. 

He had to admit that it had been enjoyable, though, hanging out and doing things with Griff, even if it was only because Giselle was there, insisting. And maybe it would have been fun to go clubbing, having Griff close in public in a place where it wouldn't be seen as something shocking, but it seemed too big a step, too big a risk to take. 

Eventually, after another pep talk from her brother, Giselle decided to go back home. Jim helped Griff fix her a farewell dinner on her last night, after which they stayed up late talking, and Jim was surprised at how quickly he had gotten used to her presence. She drove back to Seattle and Griff went with her to see her off and spend a few days in the city, taking a break from his book. Jim had considered going to meet Griff there, but an 'open and shut' case had suddenly been passed back to Major Crimes when a key piece of evidence was ruled inadmissible, leaving Jim in charge of finding another way to get them back on track. The suspect had a good lawyer, but had still been careless enough to leave something else for the police to find. It took Jim all of the next three days, but he wound up with what the DA's office needed to proceed. 

Simon took him out for a congratulatory beer, and they talked shop for a while with a few guys at the cop bar that Jim had frequented habitually in the not so distant past. Simon seemed preoccupied, but didn't want to talk when asked, so Jim decided to cut his evening short and go home, leaving Simon to another beer and the noisy discourse of cops winding down after a day on the job. Jim wanted to wind down in a different way, with Griff, but was ready to settle for a good night's sleep. 

He was fresh from a shower when the phone rang. Hot water and steam had relaxed him somewhat, but made him more aware of his body's weariness. Standing in just his towel, he hesitated, but finally picked up the phone before his answering machine could. 

"Yeah, Ellison." 

"Hey, Jim, how's it hangin'?" 

Jim was surprised at how the sound of that voice still made him smile, made the breath rush from his lungs, made his stomach quiver in excitement. "Long and low, man, long and low," he managed at last. 

"No doubt," Griff chuckled. "So whatcha got on for the evening?" 

'Nothing but a towel', Jim was tempted to quip, but instead, answered what Griff was really asking. "Not much. Just wrapped up a case and thought I'd make it an early night. I didn't know you were back." 

"Got back not too long ago. I called earlier, but just got the machine. Decided to try again." 

"I haven't been here long. I just got out of the shower." 

"So, get dressed and go out with me. I was thinking about going to the Bay Grill and have some dinner." 

"I could pick up something and bring it over." 

"No, I'm feeling a little restless and want to get out. I just got tired of hanging out in Seattle by myself. Come on, dinner and then a movie... I can still have you in bed before it gets too late." 

"I'll come over, but I'm tired tonight and I'd rather stay in once I get there." 

"Is that really it, Jim? Or is it that without Gigi here, you being out with me in public looks a little more suspect?" 

Jim couldn't deny it, and felt a flush of shame at his lack of courage. Even his valid excuses sounded stale to his own ears. 

"You know, if you'd just go to Apex or someplace, it wouldn't matter. Nobody would pay any attention to us being together." 

"Griff..." 

"Jim, forget it. It's...fine, really. I'll talk to you later." 

The dial tone droned on as Jim stood there with the receiver in his hand, fighting a rush of panic. He had been waiting for such a moment all along, the time when Griff would realize that he could do better, have more than what Jim was able to give him, but it had come too soon. He was dressed and on the road before he knew it. With no clue what to do or say that would fix it so that it worked for the both of them. 

When he pulled up in the driveway, Griff was coming out of the house. Griff did a double take at Jim's arrival, and Jim's eyes widened in surprise at the way Griff was dressed. Black leather pants, a tight, white, silk tee, everything hugging him in all the right places, putting him deliciously on display. He looked utterly fuckable, like a man on the prowl. 

Griff recovered first, walking over to Jim's truck, waiting until Jim lowered his window. "What are you doing here?" 

"I wanted to see you," Jim said, swallowing hard. 

"Well, here I am, but I'm going out. Wanna go?" 

"Griff...I can't...." 

"Yeah, but, I can. Goodnight, Jim." 

The vision of Griff strolling to his car was the sexiest thing that Jim thought he'd ever seen. Griff didn't look back, but slid in behind the wheel and sped off, while Jim sat there watching him fade from view. 

He hadn't moved by the time that Griff returned, but he had fallen asleep. So, he missed Griff walking over, shaking his head and then going inside. Didn't see Griff open the door a little while later, dressed in shorts and tee-shirt, and stand there, just staring out into the night. Wasn't aware of anything until Griff was knocking on his window, startling him awake, making a circular motion indicating for Jim to roll his window down. 

"It's late, Jim. Go home." 

Jim blinked at him blearily, wondering if Griff had done more than dance the night away, though he wasn't sure he actually wanted to hear the answer. 

"If you're going to stay, at least come inside, before one of my neighbors calls the cops." Griff turned and went back in, not waiting for Jim's decision. 

The house was dark when Jim stepped inside, and Griff was already in bed. He didn't know if that was an invitation or a rejection, but he undressed and climbed in beside Griff anyway, barely breathing until it seemed that Griff wasn't going to ask him to go sleep on the couch. Still, he disliked the amount of empty space left between them, and rigidly held back the urge to roll over and take the other man into his arms. He kept wondering if Griff would smell of smoke and alcohol and sex, and was sure he'd never relax enough to actually fall asleep. To his surprise, he woke in the middle of the night with Griff spooned up close behind him, and he turned, breathing deeply of the masculine scent that he knew so well. Griff mumbled, snuffled, shifted a little, then quieted down, and Jim sighed, falling willingly to sleep. 

The next morning, Jim woke alone in the bed, and he found Griff at the table with a mug in hand, reading. They looked at one another, and the first words that came to Jim were, "I'm sorry." 

"Me too," Griff answered, and went back to his coffee and his paper, saying no more. 

Later, Jim left to go into the station, in hopes of catching up on another growing stack of paperwork, saying that he would talk to Griff later. Griff had walked him to the door, kissing him as if nothing had happened, and as good as it felt, even to Jim everything still felt unresolved. 

Over the next several weeks, he didn't see much of Griff. There were times that he called and got no answer, but whether Griff was there and busy, or out somewhere else, Jim didn't know. He never asked and ignored all impulses to simply show up on Griff's door to find out. And then, one day, it was as if everything seemed to fall back into place. Griff was making final revisions to his book, and a few nights a week, if Griff wasn't too immersed in his writing or Jim wasn't on a case, Jim would go over and they'd eat, have sex, talk, sometimes watch TV, and have sex again. 

If Griff was perhaps a bit more subdued than before, or the sex sometimes took on a restless edge, Jim tried his best not to think about it. 

* * *

"Hey." When Griff looked over at him, Jim added, "Come here." 

They were sitting on the couch watching television when Jim realized that he'd been watching Griff much more than the game that was onscreen. 

Griff moved closer, smiling a little, and Jim kissed him hungrily, smoothing one hand over the swell of Griff's ass, enjoying the taste of Griff's mouth. Griff, spurred into action, groped between them, fondling Jim and unbuttoning Jim's pants. When Griff nudged him a little, Jim took the hint, standing up, unzipping, and pulling out his cock. It was already leaking, pointing stiffly at Griff, who leaned forward and stroked it a few times with a firm grip. Jim groaned loudly as Griff went down on him, and Griff looked up, a devilish twinkle in his eye, then set about working Jim expertly, alternating mouth and fist with slurping suction and slick friction until Jim was reduced to 'ah-ah-ah' sounds. In desperation, Jim grasped the back of Griff's head, trying to go a little harder, a little deeper, but soon decided to go for a taste of his own. 

Kneeling down, Jim opened Griff's pants, demonstrating how well he knew the darkish length of Griff's dick, the weight and slight curve of it, how licking the head could make Griff moan and that squeezing it tightly at the base could make him beg. He knew exactly how to make Griff come. Exhilarating to have that power to give pleasure...almost enough to make him come himself. But, he pulled back, pumping Griff slowly with his hand, giving them both time enough to calm down. 

He undressed Griff, turning him to lie back on the couch, and Griff immediately pulled his knees back, spreading his legs apart. Jim dropped down to worship Griff's hole with loving licks. It was something he never thought that he would do, would _like_ doing, but it thrilled him nonetheless, fucking Griff with his tongue. And then it was his fingers, just one, just briefly, just enough to test the waters before grabbing the plastic bag on the floor near his shoes. It had been his turn to buy supplies and he took a few beats to get ready and then he was in-- 

All the way in, all the way out, plunging deep, pulling free, loving the sensation of penetration, the shock of pressure around the head of his cock as he thrust over and over. Griff was smiling at him, jerking himself off in time to Jim's rhythm, almost buzzing with satisfaction when Jim finally settled in to fuck him in earnest. Breathless curses filled the air, Jim saying, 'fuck, fuck, fuck', unconsciously narrating as he sped up, slowed down, his movements getting jerky and irregular as the intensity built. But he still managed to dip down and buck up, hitting Griff's prostate enough for Griff to come hard, squirting all over himself. The sight of the slick pool, the sudden sharp scent, added to Jim's pleasure, had him coming too, growling deep in his throat as his balls drew up tight and his cock seemed to explode. 

Jim was only allowed to move enough to pull out and do a cursory clean-up, then Griff locked his legs around Jim's hips, drawing him back down for a kiss, holding him close as their heartbeats slowed. They rest a bit, kissing here, touching there, pinching and nibbling, and before long they were both aroused again. 

Griff pushed Jim back, knelt between his legs, bending low and swallowing him once again. Jim looked down the smooth, brown expanse of Griff's back, eyeing the arcs of Griff's ass where it was raised in the air, and shifted position so that he could walk his fingers down Griff's spine, trying to reach, but only able to dip slightly between the firm cheeks. It still surprised him sometimes how much he had learned to enjoy Griff's body...another _man's_ body. Griff's arm was moving, and, in his mind, Jim pictured Griff jerking himself off. He got up to watch, his dick hard and heavy as he moved around, one hand keeping Griff in position, the other finally able to caress Griff's ass. Leaning over, he could see the thick cock moving in and out of Griff's clenched fist. 

"Do me again," Griff whispered. 

Jim didn't have to be told twice. He turned Griff over, and for the second time that night, he came, buried balls-deep, while he watched creamy splatters hit Griff's chest. 

"I thought this couch wasn't big enough for the two of us," Jim joked, pulling out, rolling off. 

"It's not," Griff gasped, grinning. 

But despite their growing discomfort and the reality of the big bed just down the hall, they stayed there, still sticky, wrapped around one another for a long time. 

* * *

If Jim had known that that would be the last time that he'd ever have sex with Griff, he might have done a few things differently, like bend over one more time to feel Griff slide inside him, fill him, fuck him hard. 

If he had known that it was the last time that he'd ever see Griff, until years later anyway, he might have gotten up the courage to at least tell Griff that despite the wonderful physical discoveries that Griff had helped him make, it hadn't all been about sex for him, that he cared for the other man even if it wasn't the way Griff wanted. He thought that Griff knew that, but he would have liked to say it just once. 

But before Jim knew it, Griff's book was finished, the rental lease on the house was almost up, and Griff was scheduling meetings back east and making plans to go home. Telling Jim that he'd call, come back as soon as he could, and that Jim should come and visit him sometime. Jim had agreed to everything, not wanting to face the reality of Griff's departure, especially since his contact had been reduced to snatched phone calls. Life spun out chaotically as Jim worked a kidnapping involving the governor's brother-in-law, a difficult, messy case where the Feds got involved and Jim ended up shooting someone, and by the time the dust cleared, he had missed his last chance, because Griff had gone. 

Just like that, it was over. There were a few phone calls, none of them made by Jim, and then those stopped, and Jim was left alone with his memories. Months later he found that he could still get hard remembering Griff's walk or dick or smile. 

* * *

Three a.m. and the phone rang. The last thing Jim expected was to hear Griffin Paris' familiar drawl. 

"How's it hangin', Jim?" 

"Griff...?" 

"Yeah, I know it's late." 

"It's okay, it's...good to hear from you." 

"I just wanted to let you know that the book'll be out next week." 

"That's good. I know you're glad." 

"Yeah. Uh, Jim... my dad... my dad died over the weekend." 

"Aw, fuck, Griff, I'm sorry." 

"I just wanted you to know. I just...wanted you to know. I had planned to be out that way and look you up, but I canceled most of the appearances I had scheduled." 

"Griff...look, are you okay?" 

"I'm dealing." 

"And your mom...Gigi?" 

"As well as can be expected...you know." 

"I'm sorry, Griff, I'm really sorry." And he was, for so many things. 

"Well, it's early here, but I know it's the middle of the night there, so I'll let you go." 

"Griff...just talk to me...really." 

"I just miss him, Jim. I loved him and he's gone." 

Jim felt a rush of sadness, a sense of having failed at something important. 

"But, how have you been, Jim?" 

"Same old, same old. You know me, just keeping the streets clean." 

"Yeah, you're...you're a good cop. I owe you." 

"You don't owe me shit, Griff. You..." You gave me much too much already, he finished to himself. "You don't. Don't even think that." 

"Did I ever tell you about Yolanda?" 

"Yolanda?" Jim asked, trying to keep up with the sudden change in subject. 

"Yeah, we almost got married." 

Griff told the story about a woman he fell in love with after college, how he hadn't thought his sexuality would be an issue when he proposed. They planned a wedding and the idea for his first book was swirling around in his head, and so he explained to her that he had slept with men in college. The shit hit the fan and his supposed liberal-minded fiance couldn't seem to get past the fact that he could feel sexually attracted to a man. It had made her question his motives, his fidelity, his love. The experience had changed him, he said. Though he still liked women, it was hard to think about being involved with one again. After all, men don't kick you out when they know you've had sex with women before. He had focused on his novel, got more active in the gay community and realized that he needed to come out to his family. 

Jim didn't know what to say, but Griff didn't seem to need Jim to say anything. He wanted to talk, just not about his father. He talked until the sun came up outside Jim's window, talked until he heard Jim's alarm go off. Even then, Jim was almost afraid to let him go, but Griff said that he had a busy day and ended the call. 

Jim lay there, feeling incredibly helpless, then got up and went to do his job, knowing that at least there he could make a difference. 

* * *

A few days later, a Friday that Jim had off from work, there was a knock on his door, and a deliveryman handed him a package. He had planned to finally tackle the clutter in his spare room, but when he opened the box, inside was a hardcover book, "The Measure of a Man" by Griffin Paris. Jim pulled it out and turned it over. The picture on the back looked much better than the last one, he thought, staring at the face he had grown to know so well. When he opened the cover, he saw that Griff had written a note. Just two words, 'No regrets', signed with a sprawling 'G'. 

Jim took the book to the couch, deciding that cleaning the room could wait until another day, and spent the afternoon reading. When he turned the last page, he closed the book, oddly surprised to find that he was alone, that Griff wasn't there with him. He almost picked up the phone, but instead went to the kitchen to get a beer. Better to leave things alone...Griff deserved a man that was everything Jim couldn't be. And Jim was sure Griff would find someone. It hurt to think of it, but he hoped it all the same. 

Griff may not have had regrets, but Jim himself had many. He hadn't been ready to love again, especially not a man, didn't know if he'd ever be able to acknowledge his attraction to men to anyone. His track record was far from the best. He'd messed up with Carolyn, missed out with Griff, and it didn't look as if he'd ever get it right. 

Of course, he had no way of knowing that in just over a year, his life would take an incredible turn and in would walk a young anthropologist named Blair Sandburg. 

==THE END== 


End file.
